


Goodbye Hermione

by Beene



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Post DH, non-epilogue compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beene/pseuds/Beene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For eight years Hermione Granger has been missing, until that one day when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley find her. What has she been doing all that time?  What happened to her?  Sometimes its best not to know the answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodbye, Hermione

**Goodbye Hermione**

**__**

  _26 May, 2012_

 

The streets of London were crowded, as the day was brilliantly sunny for the first time in a week.  People were out and about, going about their lives, doing things that most of the Muggle world did on a mid-morning Saturday.  As the throngs moved along the sidewalk two figures could be seen in close conversation, one with red hair and the other with messy black hair.  Anyone who was not a Muggle, that is, someone who could wield magic, would have recognized them instantly; Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.  Both of their faces had been mainstays in the wizarding press for the last ten-plus years, as they were Order of Merlin winners and Aurors.  Potter, of course, had been lauded as the savior of the wizarding world by most, as he had been the key figure in the defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort.  His face had been everywhere for the first few years, but since he’d joined the Auror Corps his public appearances had been limited.  His companion was only slightly less notable; Ron had helped his brother George put the joke shop called Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes not only into stability, but profitability and later prominence.  His addition to the Auror Corps two years after Potter helped cement the public impression that both he and Potter were something akin to what Muggles would call superheroes.  _The Daily Prophet_ had even coined a pet phrase for the two of them that remained firmly entrenched in the public’s mind; ‘The Young Lions of the Auror Corps.’

 

If one would return to those early press clippings, though, the ones immediately following Voldemort’s defeat, a question would arise.  It was a question that had raged through the wizarding press for a few years, but had died down shortly thereafter; where was the third member of all those prominent photographs?  In all of the articles one picture had been prominently displayed, as it was the official photo taken at the Order of Merlin ceremony in honor of the young Gryffindors, and in that picture a young woman with unruly hair held hands with Ron Weasley.  Hermione Granger.  Her disappearance from the wizarding world had sent the press, as well as almost everyone else, into a complete state of shock.  For three years after the defeat of Voldemort, Hermione Granger had been seen as a beacon of hope for those on the periphery of the magical world, the house elves, the centaurs, the giants, the goblins, those who had been considered less than equal to witches and wizards.  Although only a junior member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Granger commanded quite a lot of ink in the papers, and her utterances carried weight.  Her disappearance, then, created quite the uproar.

 

At first it was thought that those opposed to her equality viewpoints had kidnapped her, as just before she left the public eye legislation that she had championed regarding laws expanding the rights of house elves had just been brought before the Wizangamot.  When that avenue of inquiry was shown to be fruitless, all other sorts of wild theories were bandied about, most notably that she’d been killed by the remaining Death Eaters.  Another was that she’d run off with Viktor Krum, who Hermione had accompanied to the Tri-Wizard tournament when she had attended Hogwarts.  The most popular theory, though, was that she was actually an undercover Auror, a spy, who was infiltrating corrupt magical governments and secretly righting wrongs.  This type of wild speculation endured for a few years, surfacing each anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, but eventually the fickle attention of the public turned to other endeavors as she remained missing and Hermione was, unfortunately, forgotten.

 

Of all the witches and wizards who had undertaken the search for Hermione one had been the most fervent, the most determined, and eventually the most discouraged.  Even though he was no longer involved with her Ron was tireless in his search for Hermione.  When his Auror shift was over he would often go out alone, searching for something, anything that might give him a hint to her whereabouts.  After a series of Muggle letters to her parents in Australia had been returned unopened he even spearheaded the team that travelled there to see if they could find any clues, but like their daughter the Grangers had dropped off the face of the earth.  Compounding Ron’s mania for finding his former fiancée was the guilt he felt for his new marriage.  The engagement to Hermione had been over for over a year when it had happened suddenly, quite out of the blue, and the only thing that tempered his fixation on the largest unsolved case in the Auror Corps was the joy he felt when he returned home.  Eventually, though, like the press Ron’s attempts to locate Hermione were fewer and fewer until he simply decided that enough was enough.  She was gone, and no matter how much he or Harry looked for her, they would never find her.

 

At least, that’s what he thought until that sunny Saturday in London.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

“Ow!  Watch it, you idiot.”  Ron turned to look at the man who had clipped his ear with a rolled up umbrella.  The man paid no attention and simply wandered off through the throngs of people, unaware that the umbrella on his shoulder had done injury to another person.  “Stupid git.”

 

Harry adjusted his gait to avoid a woman with a pram and several shopping bags.  “Give it a rest, Ron.  He didn’t know.”  He adjusted his rimless glasses and increased his pace.  “Come on, we’ve got to get to that shop.”

 

“Figures the wankers would set up business right in the middle of Mug…of London.  Trying to sell dark objects…”

 

“Ron…”

 

He waved Harry off.  “Like anybody’s listening.  It’s a miracle anyone can hear with all the bloody racket.”

 

After looking down at the scrap of parchment in his hand Harry pointed ahead.  “Two blocks up, then a right.  We’re almost there.”

 

“Fucking hate this detail.”  Ron stuck his hands in his jeans.  “Let’s get this over with.”

 

The two Aurors continued down their intended path, reached the end of the block and followed the directions on Harry’s parchment.  After making their way to their destination they turned and began walking down an alley that, even in the brightness of the London sun, was dark and damp.  The entry to their eventual destination was hidden well, warded even better, and it took the better part of a half hour for the combined efforts of the Aurors to break the enchantments.  Finally, without saying a word, they looked at each other and drew their wands.  Ron tapped the rusty doorknob of a door that had appeared out of a wall with his wand, and before the door could fully open he kicked it in.

 

Instead of finding a thriving, underground dark object mercantile establishment, though, they were greeted with the stillness of a building that had been empty for quite some time.  Dust seemed to coat all the surfaces as if it was snow and in the half-light dust motes seemed to fill the air, stirred into action by their entrance.

 

“Bollocks.”  Ron shook his head and kicked an overturned stool.  “What a waste.”

 

“Dammit, Ron, hold on.”  Harry extended his wand in front of him.  “Did you even read the reports?  If the door was that well hidden…”

 

“Oh.  Yeah.  Right.”  Ron extended his wand.  “Revelio?”

 

Harry nodded, extended his wand and with a flourish said ‘ _hominum_ _revelio’_ in a low voice.  As the two looked around the building a small flicker of light could be seen across the room and on the ceiling.  After putting a finger to his lips Harry pointed to a stairway and then up.

 

The years of chasing former Death Eaters and their supporters took over then as the Aurors began their slow, methodical and silent ascent up to the second floor.  Once again Harry cast the spell and the faint red light began to pulse, larger and larger, until it indicated a room behind a battered door that had lost its doorknob ages ago.  Again they looked at each other, nodded, and rushed into the room, expecting to find one lone purveyor of dark objects that their informant had guaranteed would be there.

 

There were no dark objects in the room.  Instead, some huddled mass of life’s leftovers sat hunched in the corner, rags about it in some semblance of clothing, a filthy stocking cap on its head.  The tattered remains of _Daily_ _Prophets_ were strewn about the room, some of them crumbling from the walls.

 

Harry noted the _Prophets_ , glanced at Ron and pointed his wand at the person.  “Auror Corps, put your wand on the floor and stand up, hands above your head.”

 

A grimy hand came out of the jumbled clothing, clutching something that glinted in the dim light.

 

“Dark object!”  Ron pointed his wand.  “Stupefy!”  The spell hit the person and flung it back into the wall where its head hit with a sickening thump.

 

Harry hit Ron hard on the shoulder.  “Bloody hell, Ron!  We don’t know if it was a dark object!”  His eyes flashed with anger.  “I’m not covering up for you again, not like Australia.  Go sort it out, but be careful.”

 

Ron mentally chastised himself about his over eagerness and walked forward slowly.  He bent down and took the tarnished object out of the hand that lay half-covered in dirty clothes.  At first he couldn’t quite make it out, but somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind the synapses began firing and he knew exactly what it was.  “Time-turner.”

 

“What?”  Harry stood a few feet back.  “What’d you say?”

 

Ron stuck his wand out and lifted up the battered remains of the shattered artifact.  He extended his wand towards his partner.  “Time-turner.”

 

“Crap.”  Harry took a step forward and extended an enchanted evidence bag.  “Those have been illegal ever since Malfoy flooded the market a few years ago.  Thought we’d rounded all those up.”

 

As Ron dropped the item in the bag he shook his head.  “The ones Draco did were silver, this is gold, or at least it was gold at one time.  Remember, he couldn’t get the spell to work unless it was silver.  Even then it didn’t work right.  What’d it do, kill six people?”  A groan arose from the pile of clothing, a distinctly female-sounding groan.  Ron whipped his wand back up towards the woman and edged forward carefully.  “Let’s see who you are, then.”

 

Harry watched his partner move a grubby scarf out of the way.  Then, after staring wildly at the form of the woman Ron fell back a few steps and quickly lost balance, sliding down the wall.  “Ron!  What is it?”  He moved forward quickly and took him by the arm.  “What happened?”

 

Ron’s voice was low and quivering.  “No bloody way, can’t be, can’t be…not her, can’t be…”

 

Realizing that his partner was almost incoherent Harry pointed his wand at the woman and stepped forward slowly.  Eventually he was in a position to see what had caused Ron’s actions, and he felt his stomach drop away as if he’d done a Wronski Feint.  There, in the mass of filth and decay, was Hermione Granger.  “Her…Hermione?”

 

The woman stood up quickly, faster than either the Aurors could have believed, and turned on the spot.  She was gone.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Deep inside the workrooms at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes George Weasley tapped the broken time-turner on the table with his wand.  “You sure you two didn’t hit the firewhiskey over at Pansy’s?”

 

“Like we’re going to go see strippers when we’re on duty.”  Ron rolled his eyes and sat back in the chair.

 

“You did it once.”  George winked at him.

 

“Yeah, and since that went so well we decided to do it again.  Robards went mental.  Don’t want to be on the bad end of that again.”

 

“Shut up, Ron.”  Harry looked over to George.  “I’m telling you, it’s true.  It was Hermione, George.  It was hard to tell but when I saw her eyes…”

 

After exhaling deeply George sat back and tapped his fingers together.  “Well, I do have something I’ve been working on.  Might be able to let you two have first crack at it, but you’ve got to put in a good word for me at the Corps.”

 

Ron leaned forward and stared at his brother.  “Fine.  Just tell us, George, can you help us?”

 

“Just put it in there, I’ll close everything up and give it a go.”

 

Harry levitated the broken time-turner into the sphere, and as soon as the small clink of metal indicated that it had settled George waved his wand.  The sphere once again became whole and then George began muttering an incantation.  The runes on the sphere began to glow, first a blue color and then progressed from green to red.  Finally the sphere began to spin, slowly at first, but then rapidly until the runes appeared to be streaks.  Without warning the sphere stopped and began to shrink until it was the size of a small pebble.  George got up and began rummaging through the items on a workbench until he finally returned with an empty butterbeer bottle and then unceremoniously picked up the sphere and put it in the bottle.

 

“There.”  He smiled at the two Aurors who shared identical looks of confusion.  “What?”

 

“Uh, that’s great and all, but now what?”  Harry gave him a quizzical glance.  “How’s that help us?”

 

George snapped his fingers.  “Oh yeah, the map.”  He again returned to his workbench and came back with a Muggle map of London.  “Best on smaller areas, still haven’t got the range down.  If she’s out of London you’re out of luck.  Just roll up the map and put it in the bottle, doesn’t have to be too far in, and then shake it up.  Once the rattling’s stopped the Find Me Orb will have imparted its essence on the map.  Sort of like the Marauder’s Map, but focused on one person, the person who’s magical signature is in the orb.”

 

Ron gave Harry a sideways look and then glared at George.  “And the time-turner?”

 

After wincing George shrugged.  “One of the drawbacks, you lose the focusing object.”

 

Once they’d finished chewing out George for destroying their only lead the Aurors once again returned to Muggle London, map in hand, and with a glowing red dot firmly located in the seediest part of town.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Night was falling as the two Aurors walked down the street, Harry holding the map as if it was a dowsing rod.  He only had eyes for the map and had to be warned by Ron a couple of times about objects in his path, most notably the junkies begging for change.  The dot on the map had moved twice in their search, but finally seemed to be settled down for a decent amount of time, causing Harry to stop suddenly.

 

“We need to have a plan, Ron.  Can’t just go rushing up to her like we did last time.”

 

“Didn’t rush, mate.  I stunned her.”  Ron looked over his shoulder to the women that were calling after him.  “Not tonight, ladies.”

 

Harry shook his head.  “If she’s down here with the prostitutes and junkies it can’t be good, Ron.”

 

“Really?  Hadn’t thought of that.”  Ron spat on the sidewalk.  “Come on, then.  Let’s do this like we did in Glasgow.”

 

“Right.”  Harry nodded.  “Come on,then.”

 

After a quick glance at the map the two Aurors split up, Harry on the opposite side of the street from Ron.  They knew if they held their present course that Ron would make first contact, and Harry would sweep in from the side.  Their wands were hidden from Muggle sight in their sleeves, but ready at a moment’s notice.

 

In the end, though, all their preparation was for nought.  Harry watched as Ron walked up to the person sitting against the wall that according to the map should be Hermione.  Instead of Ron casting a spell, or Hermione Apparating away, Ron simply walked over to her.  After what seemed like an eternity to Harry he saw Ron look over at him and wave him in.

 

When he got there he could see why Ron hadn’t done anything.  The filthy form of Hermione Granger sat unconscious against the wall, empty bean tin in front of her.  A few coins sat in the bottom of the can, barely enough to buy a small bag of crisp from a discount chain.  Ron’s eyes were full of confusion as he looked up to Harry, pleading with him to do something.  Finally, after glancing from Hermione to Ron several times, he reached out with his foot and gently nudged Hermione’s leg.

 

She roused slightly.  Her voice was thick and slurred.  “Change?”

 

The shock was too much for Harry so he simply answered with the first thing that popped into his head.  “Sorry, no change, just pound notes.”

 

Without opening her eyes Hermione lolled her head back.  “Make you feel real good for a tenner.”

 

“Bloody fucking hell.”  Ron stared in shock at Harry.  “It’s her, Harry.  It’s her!  What do we do?”

 

“Get her arm.”  Harry reached down and took a hold of her.  Once they’d managed to get her on her feet Harry took a deep breath.  “Grimmauld Place.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Ginny Potter stood outside the door of the loo and tapped her husband on the chest.  “I don’t care who she is, I’m not having that, that _thing_ in my house.  Think of the children, Harry!”

 

“I am, Ginny.  And you haven’t even asked me who it is yet.  Do you want to know?  Really?  It’s Hermione, Ginny.”  He watched the shock spread across her features.  “That’s right.  Hmm-mmm.  Hermione.  Ron and I found her earlier today but she disappeared on us, but you wouldn’t believe…”

 

“Oh Harry.”  Ginny’s pointed finger in anger turned into a calming hand that she placed on her husband’s chest.  “Is it really her?  After all these years?”

 

“Yeah.”  He adjusted his glasses.  “And I need you to clean her up.  I…I can’t do it, love.  It’s her.  I don’t want to see her like that.”

 

“I’ll do it.”  Ron mounted the last step.  “I’ve seen her starkers a lot of times.”

 

Ginny took her hand away from Harry and opened the door.  “I’ll help you, Ron.”

 

As brother and sister undertook the task to bring some semblance of humanity back to Hermione, Harry walked downstairs to the sitting room and pulled a bottle of Old Ogden’s off of the sideboard.  After knocking back one shot he filled his glass almost to the brim.  When the glass was almost drained he heard footsteps and looked up to see his wife, her face as pale as he remembered from the Chamber of Secrets.  “Gin?”

 

Ginny walked over, took the glass from Harry’s hand and downed it in one.  “She’s…Merlin, Harry.  There are marks all over her body.  And her arms, filled with tiny little scars.”

 

“Bloody hell.”  Harry knew exactly what the scars meant.  “She’s a junkie.  The place where we found her was full of them, heroin most likely.”  He took a deep steadying breath.  “That’s not the worst of it, though.  When we found her she was begging on the street, literally begging.  When she asked me for change and I told her I didn’t have any…she…she solicited me.”

 

Her hand flew up to her mouth and Ginny’s eyes were wide.  “No.  Can’t be, Harry.  Not Hermione.”

 

“Yeah.  Hermione.”

 

Ron came down the steps, looking gutted.  “She’s sleeping now.  Kept mumbling the whole time about potions and fixing something.  Think she’s gone around the bend.”  He took the bottle off the sideboard, didn’t even bother with a glass and took a long pull of the firewhiskey.  “Dunno if St. Mungo’s can help her at this point.  Is that next?  What do we do now?”

 

Both Ron and Ginny looked to Harry for an answer but he could only stare at them vacantly.  After a few moments he sighed.  “I’ll go see Robards.  Technically this is still an Auror Corps case, and since he’s Head it’s his call.  Just keep her here until I get back.”

 

Once Harry had left Ginny sat down in a chair, Ron repeating the action in the opposite seat.  She looked over to her brother.  “How are you holding up?  I know this has to be awful for you.”

 

“Yeah.  That’s an understatement.”  Ron levitated the firewhiskey bottle off of the sideboard and took another long pull.  “Wife’s gonna love this one.”

 

“She’ll understand.  If anyone will understand its Luna.”

 

Ron nodded.  “Least I got that going for me.  Going to be fun when I get home tonight.  ‘How was my day?  Oh, you know, the usual, found my ex-fiancée who’s been missing for eight years and she’s a junkie who propositioned Harry.  How were the kids today?’  Yeah.  Brilliant.”

 

The siblings sat in silence for a long time until Harry returned via Floo with two Healers.  Without saying a word to anyone he led the Healers up the stairs.  Ron and Ginny looked at each other, but didn’t say a word.  Eventually the Healers returned, Hermione’s unconscious form between them, and left for St. Mungo’s.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

“Thirty minutes, Auror Potter.  That’s all I time I’m willing to chance.”  The elderly Healer looked at Harry across the desk outside the secured, private room.  “Clock starts the moment you walk in.  I will not have you ruin three months worth of progress.”

 

“I know, I know.  Been the same procedure the whole time, you don’t need to brief me like I just started.”

 

The Healer shook a bony finger at him.  “I don’t care if you are one of the young lions, the Boy-Who-Lived or whatever the press is calling you, you will obey my rules.  Is that understood?”

 

Harry shifted in his seat.  “Yes, of course.  Now can we get on with it?”

 

With pursed lips and an air of irritation the Healer took out her wand and unlocked the door.  Without saying a word Harry got to his feet, took a deep breath and steeled himself for another visit.

 

After hearing the door lock behind him he took a look at her, and if he was honest she did look slightly better than his visit last week, and in his mind’s eye for a brief moment he flashed back to when they’d first brought her to St. Mungo’s.  Her hair had grown out considerably, still retaining its unruly nature, and she’d put on some weight.  The hollow look in her eyes had faded, but she was still nowhere near the brilliant witch of his memory.  He watched as she continued to read, unaware of his presence.  Finally he looked at his watch and realized that time was ticking by so he cleared his throat to get her attention.

 

“Harry?”  She looked up quickly.  “Harry!  What are you doing?  Have you figured it out yet?”  She closed the book, leaned back against the wall and placed the book on the bed that still didn’t have any sheets on it.  “It’s almost here.”

 

It took Harry a moment to realize what she was talking about and then it clicked into place.  During his last visit she thought it was still the Tri-Wizard tournament.  “It’s fine, really.  Cedric said to take it in the bath.”

 

“Oh.”  She cocked her head at him.  “I hadn’t thought of that.”  She patted the bed.  “Do sit down.”

 

With a weary heart Harry walked over to the bed.  He knew that once again he would not get any answers.  Once he’d sat down he looked over at her.  “What are you reading today?”

 

“Oh, well, it’s a treatise on house elves.  It’s fascinating, Harry.  Did you know that in medieval England that house elves were conscripted…”  She stopped suddenly and cocked her head at him.  “What’s wrong with you?  You look very odd.  Old, even.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t get a word out.  In the last six months that he’d been visiting her she’d never once realized that they weren’t at Hogwarts; all their conversations were about things that had happened up until what would have been their seventh year.  He also knew that he had to tread very carefully, as the Healers had been very insistent that she had to be brought along gradually.  “We all get older, Hermione.”

 

“Older?  You didn’t take George and Fred’s aging potion, did you?”

 

“No, no I didn’t.”  All the recounting of past events was finally too much for him and he decided that the Healers could get stuffed.  “Hermione, do you know what year it is?”

 

Her eyes began to glaze over and she shook her head as if trying to knock water out of her ear.  When she finally looked at him she squinted and had a puzzled look on her face.  “Merlin, Harry, I can’t believe how _young_ you are.  The last time I spoke to you, well, you were ancient.”

 

“What?”  He took off his glasses.  “Ancient?”

 

“You were very old, Harry.  I can’t believe I’m talking to you.  Honestly, Harry, did you take a potion?”

 

“Godric.”  Harry covered his face with his hands and slid them down slowly until they rested on his chin.  “The year, Hermione.  Do you know what year it is?”

 

She gave him a look that he remembered from when she thought he was being thick.  “Of course I know what year it is, it’s…um…”  She looked around the room but then returned to face him, blinking rapidly.  Finally she winced.  “No.  Sorry.”

 

“It’s 2012, Hermione.  You’ve been missing for eight years.”

 

“Missing?  I should think not, I’m not missing.  I’m right here.”

 

Harry nodded slowly.  “Yes, and where is here?”

 

She tried to say something, but the fact was that she couldn’t place exactly where she was.  Eventually she moved to the corner of the bed, drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.  Her voice was very soft when she replied.  “I don’t know.”

 

Harry took a quick glance at the small window in the door, and as the Healer didn’t seem to be observing them directly he decided to try and bring her out of whatever it was all at once.  “St. Mungo’s.  You’re in St. Mungo’s.  Ron and I found you…”

 

“Ron?”  Her voice was angry.  “He isn’t here, is he?”

 

Harry noted the hopeful note in her last question.  “No, sorry.  He isn’t.  He’s working.”

 

She began to rock back and forth slowly.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Harry, she looked up at him.  “Eight years?”

 

“Yeah.  Eight years.  Not long after you and Ron broke up.”

 

“I…I don’t remember that.”

 

After months of blank stares or repeating events that had happened during Hogwarts Harry decided that the moment of clarity was worth pursuing so he plunged ahead.  “A lot’s happened since you disappeared.  Ginny and I have kids now.”  He pulled out his wallet, extracted a picture and scooted next to her.  After giving it to her he pointed to the oldest child.  “That’s James, he’s seven.  Albus is next to him, he’s six and Ginny is holding Lily.  She’s four.”

 

Hermione reached up and wiped a tear away.  “They’re beautiful Harry.”

 

“Yeah.”  His voice was soft.  “Ginny and I make good kids.”  He watched her slightly bite her bottom lip and knew what was coming next, the moment he’d been dreading.

 

“And Ron?”

 

“He’s married.  Two boys.  Ossian, they call him Oz, he’s three.  Augustus just turned one in July.”  Mentally he willed her to not ask, to please not ask, but deep down he knew she would, and more than that she had to know eventually.

 

“Harry?”  She turned to him.  “Who did he…”

 

“Luna.  He married Luna.”  He turned to her quickly.  “He looked for you for over a year.  We even went to Australia to see if we could find your parents, since they decided to stay there, but we couldn’t find them either.  He didn’t plan on it, besides, you’d chucked him.  Gave him the ring back.  He’s blamed himself for years.”

 

The wail began slowly, almost inaudibly, but soon encompassed Hermione’s entire being.  She rocked back and forth, huge sobs wracking her body, and slapped away the hand that Harry reached out for her.  In the midst of the tears and the agony she looked up to Harry and it was at that exact moment he knew.  He knew that she was in full command of her faculties, but that it wasn’t a blessing.  He knew that she remembered everything.

 

The door opened quietly and Harry watched the Healer come in with two glasses of water and a small potion.  She handed the potion to Hermione, waited for her to drink it down, and then sat the glasses down on the small table next to the bed.  Without saying a word the Healer walked out of the room.  As Harry saw the effects of what must have been a calming draught take hold of Hermione he realized that whatever time limits had been in effect for his visit no longer mattered.

 

“Harry?”  Her voice was tiny and thin.  “Harry I’m…I can’t believe the things I’ve done.  McGonagall said horrible things happen to people who mess about with time, and I…I didn’t listen.  I thought I could change things.  That I was smarter than that.  Did someone find my time-turner?”

 

“Yeah.  We did when we found you the first time, before you Apparated away.  How’d you get it?  Everyone thought they were all destroyed.”

 

“Well, not all of them.  Obviously.  I don’t think anyone knows exactly what’s in the Ministry.  So many things lost, misplaced…I just found one.  It was just right after I broke up with Ron.  Oh Harry, I was a mess.”

 

“Why did you break up with him?  He’s never told me.”

 

After wiping the tears from her eyes she blinked several times.  “It just wasn’t going anywhere.  It took me a long time, but I finally realized that while I’ll always love Ron I wasn’t in love with him.  We were at war, Harry.  All those times in the tent, freezing and hungry, I…”  She looked away and stared at her bare feet.  “He was everything I thought I wanted.  A magical family for generations, never having to wonder if I fit in…”

 

It clicked almost instantly for Harry.  Of all people he knew the longing to truly be a part of the magical world, to be someone to who there would never be reminders that they had grown up differently.  Hermione had been accepted because of her abilities and her brains, but unconsciously she’d been searching for one thing; acceptance.  Before he could say a word, though, she continued.

 

“And then the house elf legislation.  Oh, he said he agreed, but I knew he didn’t really understand.  That’s when I saw my future, the endless bickering, the sulking, how he would never truly understand and I…I just couldn’t take it any longer.  After I gave him back the ring I went back to my flat and didn’t know what to do, but I knew one thing; I wanted my mum.  And the more I thought about it, I wanted it all back.  All the time I’d missed with them, all the time I’d been at Hogwarts, with you and Ron looking for Horcruxes, and I realized I could change it.”

 

“The time-turner.”  Harry ran a hand through his hair.  “Of all the people…”

 

“Yes, I should have known better!”  She hurtled off the bed and began pacing around the room.  “But do you know what?  It worked!  I had them back, and it was just like I’d never gone to Hogwarts!”  Her hands began to gesticulate wildly as she continued to pace.  “It was glorious, really, it was.  Those few days were amazing, but then…”  She stopped and placed her hands on the wall.  “But then…”

 

“It wasn’t, was it?”  Harry scooted to the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the floor.  “So what happened?”

 

“Instability.  Merging of different time streams.  I’d explain but I know you’ll just throw up your hands like always when I try to explain something.  So I kept trying, and trying, and finally they just snapped.”

 

“Snapped?”

 

“Snapped.  I came home one day after going to the shops and I found them on the floor, shaking and twitching.”  She shivered.  “I couldn’t bear it.”

 

“Hermione.”  Harry’s voice was stern.  “What did you do to your parents?  You didn’t…”

 

“No!  Of course not.  I couldn’t do it.  I wanted to, I couldn’t leave them like that and I couldn’t do it, so I took them out to the outback.”  She turned and faced him.  “I just left them there.”

 

“Merlin.”  Harry put his head in his hands.  “You didn’t kill them, but you probably did anyway.  Merlin.”  He looked up at her and watched as she sank to the floor.  “Hermione?”

 

Once again she pulled her knees to her chin and began to rock.  “What kind of person does that to their parents, Harry?  Tell me that.  Who does that?  I couldn’t take it.  Who could?  So I tried to forget everything.”

 

“Drugs.”

 

“It worked, oh, it worked.  But it was expensive, and dealers don’t take Galleons so I learned to get by in other ways.”  She began to laugh, but it wasn’t a mirthful sound.

 

Once again the door opened to reveal the Healer, but this time she didn’t have a potion.  “Auror Potter, I think it’s time.”

 

Harry got up from the bed and walked over to the door.  Before leaving he glanced back at the still laughing shell of his friend.  “Goodbye, Hermione.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Ron finished his toast and tea, put the dishes in the sink and stood at the kitchen window looking out into his garden for a very long time.  Harry’s visit the night before still played out in his mind, all of the things that had happened to Hermione, the way she looked when they found her, how she’d propositioned the person she had once thought of as her brother.  The recounting of Harry’s last visit to her was precise and vivid, especially the part about why she’d broken up with him.  A bird flitted across the window and landed on the hedge, drawing attention to the gnomes in the garden.

 

“You little bastards can wait.  I have to do something first.”

 

He turned and walked down the corridor to the bedroom and cracked the door.  Inside Luna lay on the bed, their youngest son nestled into her arms, his blonde hair slightly peeking up over the sheet.  After closing the door Ron moved to their oldest son’s room and saw him completely at rest, one foot sticking off the edge of the bed as usual.  Resisting the urge to cover him up Ron quietly closed the door and returned to the kitchen.  The note he left was short, but Luna didn’t need a lot of details.

 

_Heading into the office then have to run an errand.  Back soon._

 

It didn’t take long to get what he needed, and if there was ever a time he was glad that there was some hero worship amongst the younger Aurors it was then.  They didn’t have him sign in as protocol demanded, he simply chatted with the wizard on duty for a bit, popped into the evidence room and was out in a flash.  Feeling the object of his errand safely in the pocket of his Auror robes Ron headed down to the Floo.  With a pinch of powder and a distinct ‘St. Mungo’s’ he was gone.

 

The elderly Healer on duty looked up at him in surprise, as ever since that disastrous first visit with Hermione it had always been Harry that had come to visit her.  The list of those approved to see her was quite small, limited only to the Aurors, as Robards wanted to keep things quiet.  Ron felt the same need, so he didn’t feel bad at all about confunding the Healer.  As she headed out to get that cup of tea that Ron had suggested he reached out and opened the door, leaving it open to the hallway.

 

She was rocking back and forth on the floor.  When he sat next to her he could see that whatever lucidity that Harry had described the previous night was long, long gone.  She didn’t even notice when he sat down next to her.

 

“Hello ‘Mione.  Listen, Harry told me.  I think I get it, but…I dunno.  I’m happy with Luna.  Never would have guessed it, but I am.  Boys are wonderful, and…crap.”  He exhaled deeply.  “I’ll always love you, ‘Mione, but my life’s different now.  Maybe we could have made it work, but I guess we’ll never know, huh?”  He reached out and took her hand.  “I just want you to be happy, too.”  After a few moments he stood up.  “Goodbye.  Be happy, Mione.”

 

After he left Hermione rocked for a while until she could feel something different, something next to her skin was cold.  She opened her hand and revealed a small, silver time-turner.


	2. You Are Expected

**You Are Expected**

 

The disappearance of Hermione Granger from the secure psychological trauma ward of St. Mungo’s did not make the papers.  It was not commonly known that she had actually reappeared in wizarding Britain, so life went about its usual path.  That was not the case for all people, however, as those who had any knowledge of Hermione Granger’s secretive reappearance were called in for immediate questioning.  George Weasley was perhaps the only participant in the subsequent questioning in Head Auror Robards’ office to actually be glad to attend, as he was due at that very hour to deal with child support issues from the mothers of his children.  The latest profit and loss statement of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes had just been published, a requirement made of all publicly held companies, and George’s profits once again led to yet another hearing regarding the amount of child support he was required to pay.  As the Head Aurors’ request trumped the solicitors, Lavender Brown and Angelina Johnson both went away feeling as if they were getting the wrong end of the broom.

 

To call that meeting tense would be a rather large understatement; of all the people gathered in the room only two besides the Head Auror knew exactly where Hermione Granger was being held at the time of her disappearance; her former good friend Harry Potter and her former fiancée Ron Weasley.  It was rapidly discovered that, for someone who was an Auror, Ron Weasley did a horrible job at covering his tracks.  The junior Aurors who had been on duty at the time of Hermione’s disappearance had been questioned and simple determination of alibis, accounting of movements, and an inventory into the evidence room quickly laid out the chain of events.  A missing Malfoy time-turner, an examination of the Healer on duty who showed evidence of being confunded, and the time between Harry’s departure from St. Mungo’s and Ron’s entry into the evidence room pointed to only one culprit.

 

Saying that things went badly for Ron would be like saying that dragons are not good house pets; completely obvious.  Robards had no choice to immediately suspend Ron for a month, without pay, until his disciplinary hearing.  Harry was assigned to the missing persons case and everyone involved was sworn to secrecy upon pain of Azkaban.  The Potters left the meeting in completely different moods; Harry was furious that Ron had done such a thing, while Ginny felt nothing but shame and embarrassment.  They did not speak as they went to the Floo, they did not speak when they arrived back at Grimmauld Place, and it was only the fact that Lily fell on the steps and hurt her knee that caused them to break out of their self-imposed silences.

 

Things were not better, not at all, in a little house nestled into the hills near Ottery St. Catchpole.  Luna Weasley sat rocking her small son Augustus while her older son Oz played with castle blocks on the floor near her feet.  The arrival of her husband an hour before that, and the look upon his face, did not take a Ravenclaw to figure out that he was in trouble.  She’d teased it out of him in drips and drabs until he had finally exploded and almost shouted what had happened.  His behavior had frightened the boys, and she’d banished him to the garden.  She wasn’t surprised when she heard the crack of Apparition, as she knew how he was when things were difficult.  It was as if one of Luna’s greatest fears was being realized, as she knew thought she knew but wasn’t entirely sure exactly how he truly felt about Hermione Granger.  As she rocked in the chair Luna nestled Augustus closer to her, wondering where Hermione Granger was at that very moment.

 

It was the same question that several people were asking themselves at that moment.  One person who was fixated on that question, though, was miles away from Britain.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The Skriven Snitch was having an off night.  Hardly any customers were in the pub, something that made Viktor Krum restless.  At first it had been a good evening as the Bulgarian national Quidditch team had stopped in after a training session, and Viktor had good-naturedly put up with the team’s insistence that he come back and coach.  The pub had been full after their arrival, as news of the team’s appearance in the sleepy little magical town was always good for business.  Eventually, though, the team had left, taking most of the customers with them, leaving only a few barmaids, the cook and Viktor’s wife Penka as the only inhabitants.

 

Penka walked over to the corner booth that was Viktor’s second home.  “Is slow night.  Will pick up.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.”  He turned the bottle of vodka on the table in slow circles with his wand.  “Maybe I should go back to coaching.”

 

“Viktor, Viktor…Nikola would be heartbroken.  You know he wants you to watch him play.  Is his first year at Durmstrang.  You promise.”

 

Viktor’s malaise was short-lived, as an owl began to batter at the window next to the corner booth.  Once he let the bird in, and rounded up a treat, the bird went on its way.  He tossed the letter onto the table, irritated.  Some fans had not been able to let his retirement sit easy, as several pleading missives reached him every day.  He knew that he had never fully recovered from that accident, Penka knew it, his former coach and teammates knew it, but the public did not.  To him the letter would just be one more reminder that he would never fly professionally again, so Viktor did what he usually did; he ignored the letter.

 

Penka, however, did not.  She picked up the letter and lightly smacked him on the arm with it.  “It could be from Nikola.”

 

“It wasn’t an eagle.”

 

Ignoring her husband’s attitude Penka began to read the letter while Viktor watched her from the corner of his eye, sipping vodka.  It didn’t take him long to figure out that it wasn’t a pleading fan letter or a note from their son, as her eyes had narrowed in confusion.

 

Finally she handed it to him.  “Read.”

 

_Viktor Krum_

_The Skriven Snitch_

_Corner Booth by the Window_

_Mr. Krum,_

_It has come to my attention that you are connected to a kronos flumine anomaly.  This anomaly, if left unchecked, may severely impact not only your future but that of your family.  Please travel to Delphi with all haste.  Further details will be relayed upon your arrival._

_Elizabeth Kyria_

_Pythia, Oracle of Delphi_

 

Viktor looked up from the letter to his wife and could easily read the fear on his wife’s dark features.  Without saying a word Penka got up from the booth, went into the back room and returned with his traveling cloak.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Hermione Granger blinked several times and looked around the squalid room, unsure if it was night or day.  As she moved to sit up she found an arm flung over her stomach and realized that she was not the sole occupant of the mattress that lay upon the floor; someone else was in bed with her.  She slowly moved the arm off of her body and as she did so the realization that she was naked hit her.  Unfortunately it was a sensation that she was used to.  She rolled off the mattress and began searching for her things.  Apparently her knickers must still be in the bed, so she ignored that fact and got dressed.  The tattered little orange rucksack which contained the rest of her worldly possessions sat on an upturned crate, and she quickly began rustling through it, worry almost overtaking all rational thought.

 

Finally, after moving aside the creased picture of her standing between her parents and an old _Daily Prophet_ she found the two of the three things she could absolutely not live without; the wand she’d stolen and the silver time-turner.  She and the dealer had run out of the third thing.

 

Her concentration was broken by a muffled groan that came from the mattress.  “Hey, babe, come back to bed.  I’ll score some more and then we’ll have another party.”

 

A series of lights began to flash in her head and the scenes from the previous night began to replay in quick succession.  _Arriving in New York City.  Apparating to the area of town she’s scored in before.  Meeting the dealer.  Coming to a quick arrangement.  The fulfillment of the deal.  The tiny prick on her arm and the overwhelming escape from everything._   She held her hands to her head to stop everything from flashing, but before she could stop it other images burst into her consciousness.   _Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Luna **Weasley** , Harry Potter, St. Mungo’s, the time-turner…the time-turner… _

 

She held out her wand and pointed it at the man.  “ _Stupefy!_ ”  Nothing happened.

 

The man in the bed sat up, his tattoos easily visible in the half-light of the dingy room.  “Bitch, you crazy?”

 

Her tone and posture changed immediately.  “Oh, sorry.  Hard coming down.”  She smiled at him, and as she walked over to the bed she looked around for something, anything to get her out of the situation.  “I’m hungry.  Can we get some food?”

 

He stood up and didn’t bother to wrap the sheet around his waist.  “Ehhhh…food costs money, you don’t have shit…”  He saw her rucksack and his demeanor changed instantly.  His tone was icy.  “Where you going?”

 

She batted her eyes at him.  “I’m hungry.”

 

The man licked his lips in an unsavory manner.  “Yeah, you were last night.  Just wait right here, I gotta pee.”

 

He walked over to the sink and began to urinate, and that’s when she saw it.  A loose brick from the crumbling fireplace.  It was while he had his back turned, head turned up in relief, that she smashed the brick down on his head.  He fell into the sink and then slid down to the floor, blood running through his greasy brown hair.  Hermione only took in his chest rising and falling for a second before she ran over to his jeans, rifled through them, and pulled out a wad of American Muggle money.  For a moment she thought about taking the handgun but decided against it.  Ten minutes and six flights of stairs later she found herself on the streets of New York, hungry, pain coursing through her veins, and wondering why the spell hadn’t worked.  Eventually her brain wrapped around the fact that what helped her escape from her private hell also took things away.

 

More flashes began searing into her face, causing her to stagger as she hit the sunlight.  _Yule Ball…Viktor Krum…happiness…dancing…Viktor.  Viktor._ She reached into her pocket to give the time-turner a possessive touch.  Everything had gone horribly wrong with Ron…but Viktor?

 

She thought about the former Durmstrang student as she wandered the streets of the city.  Hermione ignored the people who looked at her oddly, and it takes quite a bit of oddness to attract the attention of the citizens of New York.  She was muttering to herself as she walked.  “Should’ve worked…maybe it’s the smack…”  She twitched.  “Should’ve used it then, he was a bastard…why’d Ron give it to me…Harry’s not ancient…need food…and answers.  Need answers.  Library.  Need a library…food!”

 

She stopped in front of a small Greek bakery.  As she stood there the smells of newly baked goods seemed to cut through the usual mix of car exhaust and debris, but more than that one part of her brain, the part that she referred to as ‘old Hermione’ kicked in.  _Greece…the Muggles had myths about an oracle, someone who could see the future, priestesses…_   She rubbed her temples roughly.  It was starting to come together, but it physically hurt to try and string together more than fragmentary thoughts.  “Apollo, no Themis and Phoebe…Oracle, seers, Trelawney, Sybil…Sybil…seers, seers, Oracle, Delphi.  Delphi.  Delphi.  Delphi.”

 

As deliverymen yelled at her to move out of the way Hermione ducked into a small alley.  She pulled off her rucksack, almost threw it on the ground and began rummaging through it once again.  The object of the search was found crumpled in a side pocket with an empty crisps bag; a Muggle passport.  She’d stolen it in Cairo from a British tourist at one of the sites, a rather easy thing to do, as the woman had wandered off from the tour.  A quick sleeping spell later she had not only the passport but a good amount of money as well.  As Hermione rested against the alley wall, ignoring the sounds of New York, she took out her wand, the picture of her with her parents and modified the passport.  After flipping through the large wad of bills she’d stolen earlier she determined that she had enough money.  It took several tries but she was finally able to cast the spell.  Helen Bishop of Bardfield Saling was going to Greece with the sixteen-year old face of Hermione Granger.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Ginny Potter looked over at her husband and furrowed her brow, as it was just like when they were in school; he hadn’t said more than ten words to her all day and he’d been staring out the window while his tea had grown cold.  Finally she’d had enough.

 

“Harry, it wasn’t your fault.  We didn’t know he’d do it.”

 

Harry slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair.  “I know that, Ginny.  But he did it, didn’t he?  Eight bloody years, she’d been gone _eight years_ and now she’s Merlin-knows-where, and in the state she’s in?  With what she’s been through?”  He turned to his wife, green eyes colder than she’d seen in years.  When he finally spoke his voice was low and laced with anger.  “He knew _exactly_ what those things do.  Six people have been killed by them.  Six!  Much easier if she was gone, isn’t it?  Makes life with Luna much easier, don’t have to wonder ‘what if’ every bloody day.”

 

“Harry.  No.”  Ginny fell back against the chair as if she’d been struck.  “No…he wouldn’t do that.  He wouldn’t.  He just wanted to give her the chance to fix things, to…”

 

His laugh was sarcastic.  “Right.  Just like the other six people who turned up dead.  Worked out swimmingly for them.  I know he’s your brother, and I thought he was my best mate, but right now I don’t know him at all.”

 

Before Ginny could answer the Floo roared to life, the green flames revealing the face of Head Auror Robards.  “Potter, my office, immediately.”  Without another word the flames died.

 

Ginny sat as if unable to move and watched her husband leave the room, return shortly in his Aurors robes, and throw down Floo powder without saying another word.  She sat there for quite a while until Lily crawled up in to her lap, asking for lunch.

 

Harry made his way through the Ministry in a sour mood.  The fact that Ron had been suspended was massive news, but nobody seemed to know why.  They also knew that it was very unwise to question Harry when he was in one of those moods.  After taking the lift to the proper level and opening the door Robards didn’t even let Harry sit down.  From almost the exact moment he entered the Head Auror’s office Robards handed him a letter.

 

“Old friend of yours sent something our way, it isn’t much but it’s all we’ve got.  You’re going to Greece, Potter.”

 

Harry looked down at the letter, scanned it, and then gave his boss a questioning look.  “Viktor Krum?  Letter doesn’t say anything about Hermione.  What makes you think it’s connected?”

 

“Bloody hell.”  Robards smacked his lips.  “Hogwarts does a shite job these days.  _Kronos flumine_ , Potter.  Time.  Stream.  You know of any time stream muckups?  That’s what I thought.  Go.  And I’ll expect your owl the second you find anything.  Not one word to anybody this time, got me?  Not one fucking word.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The flickering light around the sacred hearth cast a multitude of shadows on the walls of the cave.  Some of the younger members of the order studied the shadows and took notes in large scrolls of parchment.  In the center of the cave, nearest the fire, a woman sat in deep red robes staring at the hearth, watching the tips of the flames turn from sun-like orange to blue before spitting into the air.  As the flames turned a darker shade, almost black, she knew that one had arrived.  She stood up slowly, clasping her hands together as the folds of the robe hid everything except her face, and turned to the newcomer.

 

“Harry James Potter, owner of the cloak, destroyer of the stone, abandoner of the wand.  You are expected.”

 

Harry eyed the other occupants of the cave warily as he stepped forward towards the woman.  “You have me at a disadvantage.  You know a lot about me, but I haven’t the foggiest who you are.  Or why I’m really here.”

 

The woman reached up and took down her hood, revealing a face that looked as fresh and bright as a schoolgirl.  A simple golden band encircled her hair, which to Harry looked as if she was a blonde, brunette and a redhead, all at the same time.

 

“I have known many names, but for this time I am called Elizabeth Kyria.  I am the Pythia of Delphi.”

 

“Pythia?  Sorry, don’t know what that is.”  Harry felt disappointed.  Robards had sent him all the way to Greece to talk to some kid?

 

“Do not let your eyes deceive you, Harry Potter.  I have seen five hundred summers and will see five hundred more, and beyond that five hundred more.  I have seen your future Harry Potter, but now it is fragmented.  Stretched.  And you know of the reason why.”

 

“Hermione.”

 

She nodded.  “Others are drawn into the web.  When they arrive all will be explained.”  She turned from him and once again sat in front of the fire.

 

Harry let out an exasperated laugh.  “Bloody wonderful.  Worse than Trelawney.”  He took out his wand to conjure a chair but nothing happened.  After shaking his wand and trying three more times with the same result he gave up and sat cross-legged on the floor of the cave.

 

His wait was not long, though, as a few moments later the sound of heavy bootsteps echoed through the cave, revealing the still imposing figure of Viktor Krum.  Viktor’s entrance was met with in the same manner by Elizabeth Kyria.

 

“Viktor Aleksander Krum, seeker of things, restless of soul.  You are expected.”

 

“She’s the Oracle, mate.”  Harry walked forward and clasped Viktor’s hand but the former Seeker pulled him into a rough hug.

 

“Harry.  It has been too long, my friend.  That we would have to meet in such a place.  Do you know the reason?”

 

“Yeah.”  Harry held Viktor at arm’s length.  “Unfortunately, I do.”

 

The two men sat down and Harry explained everything.  Hermione’s flagrant abuse of time, her subsequent descent into madness and drug abuse, and the depths to which she had sunk to procure the mind-numbing substances.  He hesitated when it came to Hermione’s parents, but his old friend needed to know the truth.  Harry also posited a guess on why Viktor had been summoned to Greece.

 

After he’d finished Viktor rubbed his closely shorn head.  “You think she would be coming to see me?  It was only a brief thing, did not last.  Was schoolboy crush.”

 

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed them clean with the hem of his Auror’s robes.  “Besides her parents and Ron it’s just us.  I brought her back to reality, so I doubt I’m next on her list.  It’s just you; you’re the only one left.”

 

Viktor didn’t answer, he just stared at a point over Harry’s shoulder.  Harry turned, and there she was.  Hermione.

 

Once again Elizabeth Kyria stood at the mouth of the cave, shadows playing over her features.  “Hermione Jean Granger, once great but now fallen.  You have meddled with forces beyond your mortal abilities.”  She extended a hand and Hermione floated through the air until she rested two meters from Elizabeth.

 

Harry and Viktor watched, transfixed, unable to move.  Everything in the cave seemed to stop.  The shadows no longer moved upon the walls, the flames as permanent as sculpture within the hearth.  Time literally stood still.

 

Elizabeth raised her arm and clasped her hands in front of her face.  “αφαιρέστε τη συσκευή φάουλ!”

 

The fabric of Hermione’s filthy jeans ripped open.  A glint of metal appeared for a moment and then flew high in the air, sped towards the still flames of the hearth and then descended with an explosion into the very heart of the fire.  As the echo of the sound reverberated through the cave the shadows once again danced on the walls.

 

“NO!”  Hermione scrambled for the time-turner, burning her hands on the flames.  Only Harry and Viktor’s quick movements kept her from throwing herself into the fire.

 

Elizabeth turned to Hermione, her face dark with rage.  “There are laws that cannot be broken.  You have broken one of those laws and must suffer the consequences.  If I had not called you here the damage would have been irreparable.”  Her eyes were shining with a bright blue glow, a glow that matched the hottest point of the flames.  “Will you two answer for her?  Her mind is disjointed.  You will make the choice.”

 

“Choice?”  Harry looked to Viktor in panic.  “What?”

 

“What choice do you mean?”  Viktor felt Hermione sobbing next to him and Harry, and placed a hand upon her heaving back.  “I cannot choose for her.”

 

“Not you.”  Elizabeth turned to Harry.  “Your fates are intertwined this day as they have always been.  What form that takes now is up to you.”

 

Harry’s mind reeled.  He couldn’t take it all in and decided to stall.  “What was it you said when she came into the cave?”

 

Elizabeth’s eyes flickered momentarily.  “You wish to delay.  It is of no consequence, the choice will be made.  I used the ancient tongue to ‘remove the foul device’ from this place.  It is destroyed, but there are others like it.  What is your choice?”

 

 _Bloody hell._   Harry straightened his glasses.  He knew that they were all treading a dangerously fine line with very deep, old magic.  “Ok.  Fine.  I’ll make the choice, but what are the options?”

 

Elizabeth’s eyes turned to the prone, sobbing figure of Hermione.  “She has damaged the time streams.  She can choose to set it right, go back to this time and as a penance destroy the remaining foul devices or she can choose another time and suffer the consequences.”

 

“And what consequences?”  Viktor’s voice was shaky.  “What will happen?”

 

Elizabeth seemed to grow, and she was no longer a young woman but a thing of light.  “A gifted one with the powers has only one true penalty, loss.  She will return to the world and live everything over again but she will no longer wield the gift.  And she will know what she has lost.”

 

Harry felt as if he was going to vomit.  That was the choice he had to make?  To keep Hermione as she was, with all of the memories of her utter degradation intact or to send her back without magic?  She’d never go to Hogwarts, she’d never meet him and Ron on the Hogwarts Express, she’d never...

 

“Choose.”

 

“Now!  Now, I choose now, damn it.”  Harry looked at Elizabeth in anger.  “Don’t send her back to that time.”

 

“The choice has been made.”  Elizabeth lifted up her arms and once again Hermione floated through the air, but this time she had full control of her body.  It didn’t help.  As Viktor and Harry were once again powerless to move Hermione hovered above the fire, screaming, and then without notice her body was plunged into the flames causing a massive flare of blue light.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

High in a hidden grove on Mount Parnassus three bodies lay prone in the grass.  Slowly one person began to move, his nostrils stinging, and eventually he found the strength to sit up and adjust his glasses.

 

“Hermione?”  Harry half-crawled over to her and put a hand on her arm.  “Hermione?  Can you hear me?  Are you ok?”

 

“Was horrible.  Horrible.”  Viktor raised up very gingerly, careful to avoid putting pressure on his oft-repaired elbow.  “Harry is she…”

 

“Don’t know.”  Harry shook her arm gently.  “Come on, Hermione, wake up.”  The closer he got to her the more Harry’s nose throbbed.  It was the smell of singed hair.  “Merlin.  She’s breathing, Viktor.  She’s ok.”

 

She didn’t move.  As Harry and Viktor gathered themselves Harry started to wonder about the veracity of his earlier statement.  Was Hermione ok?  She hadn’t even twitched or flinched once, and in the time since he’d found her Harry had become well acquainted with her tics in his visits to St. Mungo’s.

 

Day became night as the two wizards made a small fire to watch over the prone witch, who had not moved on her own volition.  They had rolled her over onto her back and had checked her for injuries, but could not find anything except writing on her wrist, in electric blue letters, that read φορά.

 

“Kronos, or time.”  Viktor traced the letters with his finger.  “Can read words but cannot speak it but little.  Was taught at Durmstrang.  Feels very warm.”

 

Harry repeated his friend’s actions, running his fingers along the letters.  The letters of what looked like a tattoo were very warm to the touch.  He felt her forehead and she was warm to the touch, sweating, feverish.  “I don’t know what to do, Viktor.  They don’t train Aurors for this.”

 

Viktor nodded.  “Nobody is trained for this.  We wait.”

 

They took turns staying awake to observe her throughout the night, Viktor taking the first watch.  Harry noticed the beginnings of light make its way onto the mountain when he saw her foot twitch, and that was enough of a sign to make him scramble over to her.  He put his hand to her head and found that her fever had broken, and when he touched her wrist, the blue tattoo felt cold to the touch, as if he had put his hands in icy cold water.  The contact of Harry’s hand on her wrist caused Hermione to sit up with a start, her face a picture of abject fear.

 

“Hermione!”  Harry reached for her and pulled her into a tight, relieved embrace.  “Oh my God, Hermione…”

 

“Harry?”  Her voice was soft and scared.  “Harry…where are we?”

 

“We are in Greece.”  Viktor had joined them as the sound of Harry’s voice had jolted him from an uneasy sleep.  “We are a long way from our homes.”

 

Hermione blinked several times and stared over Harry’s shoulder, not believing what she was seeing.  All around her the day was breaking, sunlight streaming through the olive trees and Viktor Krum was kneeling down in the grass next to the remains of a dying fire.  “Viktor?  Why…”  She pushed back from Harry and looked at him.  “What happened?”

 

Harry shook her off emphatically.  “Not now.  How do you feel?”

 

For the first time in years Hermione took stock of her current situation and felt…whole.  There was no burning desire for numbness and escape coursing through her veins, willing her to do anything to forget.  Instead of the fragmentation, the sudden flashes of sights, of pieces of her past that floated up unbidden she could actually put together a coherent thought.  “I feel…fine.”

 

The sigh of relief that came from Harry was immense.  “Thank Merlin.”

 

“Herrmyownee, what do you remember?”

 

She looked at Viktor and suddenly it hit her.  She remembered everything.  The cave, the flashing eyes of the girl in the deep red robes, the fire...the fire.  She reached down and felt the ripped denim of her jeans and then used all of her willpower to look at the two men in front of her.  Everything.  She remembered _everything_.  “Oh God.”

 

Harry watched as she covered her face with her hands and began to sob.  Instinctively he reached out once again for her.  “It’s ok, Hermione, you’re ok.  You’re safe.  We’re here.”

 

For several moments she cried into Harry’s shoulder, and when she finally found the courage to raise her head Harry’s shoulder was wet with her tears.  After a very deep breath she looked over to Viktor.  “I was going to come see you.  I was going to use it again, and…I’m sorry.  I don’t even know if you’re married.”

 

“I am.”  Viktor raised his left hand.  “Penka and I have been married for thirteen years.  Nikola is at Durmstrang now.  He is good boy, flies very well.  Not Seeker but Chaser.”

 

That sent Hermione into another bout of sobs until Harry shook her slightly.  “Hermione.  Come on, you’ve got to pull it together if we’re going to get back home.”

 

“Home?  I don’t have a home, Harry.”  She shook her head.  “I don’t have a home anymore.”  She lifted up her hand to wipe away the tears and that was the moment she saw it.  “What is…oh.  Oh.  Oh.”  She extracted herself from Harry’s arm and felt it with her fingers, recoiling slightly at the touch.  “It’s cold.”

 

“Was hot.  You had fever, sleep for one whole day.”  Viktor’s voice was as soothing as he could make it.  “Much better now.  Made us worried.”  He got to his feet and extended a hand.  “We go home now.  I must go first, Penka will be worried.  Goodbye, Herrmyownee.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

To say that Hermione Granger’s sudden reappearance into the wizarding world was a shock would be the understatement of the millennia.  Instead of taking up Harry’s offer to go about things quietly she was determined to try to right the wrongs she’d caused over the years.  When she and Harry walked into the Ministry there was a frenzied uproar, as everyone tried to get close to see the mysterious Hermione Granger, and eventually they had to be escorted into the Head Aurors’ office by twenty Aurors in tight formation.  As they sat in front of Gawain Robards’ desk for a brief moment Hermione considered trying to keep back some of the details of her sordid past, but when she looked over and saw the faint scars on Harry’s hand that said ‘I must not tell lies’ she felt a cold sensation on her wrist.  Without even looking at the tattoo she knew what she must do.

 

The utter scandal of what had transpired over the eight years of her disappearance made Hermione the singular topic of conversation for almost everyone.  Mothers hurriedly tried to snatch magazines and papers out of their impressionable children’s hands lest they find out what degrading depths the famous Gryffindor had sunk to in her attempt to change time.  On the brief occasions Hermione was out of St. Mungo’s or the Ministry she was mobbed, ridiculed, and scorned.  People turned away from her, some men eyed her with obviously lusty thoughts running through their heads, but most of all she was shunned.

 

Her only solace during the time she arrived and her upcoming trial in front of the Wizangamot was Harry.  He was the one who had arranged the small cottage far away from prying eyes.  He was the one who visited her, who tried to keep her spirits up, to give her hope, but she knew that it was all a mask for his disappointment and unease.  It didn’t take a seer to realize that her reappearance had caused a rift between Harry and Ginny, something that made her feel even worse, if that was possible.

 

Long stretches of days went by and Hermione sat in the little cottage, afraid to dwell on what might have been.  She had not told anyone, not even Harry, what had happened when the witch in the cave had thrown her in the fire.  It was in the fire that she’d seen all the results of her possible futures, all the results of her meddling with time.  She’d seen her and Harry walking hand in hand, kissing by a lake.  She’d seen herself high in the Bulgarian mountains, settling down for the night with Viktor in a bed with deep blankets to ward off the cold.  Ron walking towards her with a bouquet of roses.  Those were the good futures, the ones that had come in disjointed bursts when she had used the silver time-turner.  The other futures, though, those were the ones that kept her awake at night, the ones that showed her sprawled on a mattress in a dank room while a man took money from another man.  Visions of needles, visions of madness, death, inconceivable pain.  And the most common future, the one that came to her most often, was the one where she sat in her bedroom, her parents down in the kitchen while she waited for the Hogwarts letter that would never come.

 

The trial with the Wizangamot was closed to the press.  She’d cleaned up as best she could, Harry had brought over some things of Ginny’s for her to wear, but when she put them on and looked in the mirror she was shocked.  Ginny had always been thinner than her, something she’d always complained about to Ron, but the fabric seemed to hang off of her like a scarecrow.  There were massive circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t use any of the healing spells to disguise the marks on her arms.  It was in that state that she had sat before the entire Wizangamot, head held as high as possible while her actions had been recounted in startling detail.

 

Unsurprisingly it was Harry who had given the impassioned evidence in her favor.  He recounted the loss of his parents, the pain it had caused him over the years, and had drawn the comparison to Hermione.  She had hunted the Horcruxes, she had risked everything to defeat Voldemort along with him and Ron, she had given up her parents to new lives to save them from the Dark Lord.  The fact that they had never come to grips with what she had done, the fact that they had decided to remain in Australia, wasn’t that enough to make anyone try to fix things?  More than all of that, though, hadn’t she been given orders from Elizabeth Kyria at Delphi?  She had been ordered to destroy all the remaining Malfoy time-turners.  Did they want to go against the Oracle after what he’d told them?

 

They did not deliberate long.  She was convicted of illegal use of a time-turner, but instead of Azkaban she was committed to St. Mungo’s for a month, the rest of her sentence suspended unless she had another offense.  They declared that any subsequent violations of the law would result in a ten year Azkaban sentence.  The elderly Healer from her previous visit quietly and gently led her away.  Hermione did not look at any of them as she left.  The tattoo surged with cold momentarily, almost making her cry out in pain, but she did not flinch.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The stay at St. Mungo’s had been a relief to her; there were no more prying eyes, no reporters, no mothers shielding their children from her presence.  The Healer had been quite kind, and they had formed a bond over books.  Her official release from hospital and certification of mental stability left her feeling very anxious until she saw him standing in the doorway.  Harry had simply smiled at her, gave her a hug and took her back to the little cottage with promises to see her every day.

 

The little cottage began to feel more like a home after Hermione had lived there for a few weeks.  Harry’s visits were like clockwork; right after his shift with the Auror Corps he would show up, some takeaway in his hands, and they would talk for a few minutes until he left to go home.  It was halfway during her second week there that, instead of Harry, Ginny stood nervously on her doorstep with a paper bag full of Indian food.  The meal had been strained at first, but decades of friendship, a friendship forged in those awful years with the threat of Voldemort, a friendship like that was one that could withstand almost anything.  There was one subject that loomed over everything but was never mentioned; Ron.  Hermione knew that eventually the subject would have to come up, but she tamped that down tight.  She wasn’t ready for that, and if she was honest with herself she didn’t know if she ever would be ready.

 

Fate, though, had different plans.  It was almost evening, the time when either Ginny or Harry usually showed up when there was a knock at the door.  After feeling the weight of such intense self-reflection ease she opened the door and came face to face with Luna.  Luna Weasley, holding the hand of a young boy while holding another in her arms.

 

“Oh, Luna.  I…”

 

“Harry and Ginny couldn’t make it.  James is in hospital.  Dragon pox.  Oz has your food, don’t you Oz?”

 

The little boy struggled but proudly displayed a plastic bag full of Muggle takeaway.

 

Hermione blinked several times.  “Yes, yes, very good.  Uh, do come in.”

 

After Luna and her boys entered the cottage the little red-haired boy handed Hermione the bag.  “Dad says tied Muggle food makes your tummy yucky but Mummy and I really like it!”

 

“Thai, Oz.  It’s called Thai food, not tied.”  Luna smiled and smoothed his hair down.  “He eats anything.”

 

An unconscious laugh came from Hermione.  “I’m not surprised.”

 

The red-haired boy tugged at his mother’s sleeve.  “Can I play wif my aminals?”  He paused for a moment.  “Uh, please?”

 

Luna nodded.  “Yes, Oz, you may play with your animals.”  She handed him a small bag of magical animals from the baby bag which hung from her shoulder.  “Why don’t you play over there by the window while Mummy talks?”

 

Hermione felt a mass of emotions hit her as she watched the little boy take the toys and quite happily sit in the window seat, carefully placing a toy hippogriff on the cushion.  She sat on the edge of the sofa while Luna took a seat in a high-backed chair.

 

“Yours would have been older.”  Luna smiled.  Her voice held no sense of malice or edge.  “But he probably would have had your hair.”

 

The sharp intake of air caught Hermione by surprise, but it shouldn’t have.  She knew Luna.  She knew that the former Ravenclaw never minced words.

 

Luna shifted her blonde son in her arms.  “It’s quite all right.  I would wonder the same thing. I tell it to Neville every time I see him and Hannah.”

 

Hermione held her hand to her mouth, unsure of whether to laugh or gasp.  Finally, unable to take it any longer, she asked the question that she had been dreading.  “How is he?”

 

“Oh, he’s doing much better.  Robards suspended him for a year.  He could have stayed and filed reports but he’s working for George now.  We’re living in Muggle London, too.  There’s a nice park for the boys and I rented the house in Ottery St. Catchpole to a pair of very nice gay wizards.  They didn’t like the furniture, though.”

 

Before Hermione could even begin to think how to react to Luna’s news Oz came over to her chair and handed her an animal.  “Is this a Nargle?”

 

Hermione blinked several times and then took a steadying breath.  “No, that is an elephant.”

 

The little boy took the toy back from her and then looked at her intently.  A look of surprise washed over his face.  “You’re the lady in Daddy’s pictures!  The one wif Uncle Harry!”

 

All the reserve she had built up in St. Mungo’s vanished.  Hermione ducked her head as tears rolled down her face.

 

“Mummy, why is she crying?  Is she crying ‘cuz of the picture?”  Oz went over to his mum.  “I didn’t say Daddy’s bad words, did I?”

 

“No sweetie, your Auntie Hermione is sad because she’s scared.”

 

Oz gave his mum an odd look.  “It’s just pretend, not a real aminal.”

 

Luna patted him on the head.  “Yes, it isn’t real.  Go play with your other animals, please.”

 

Once the little boy had returned to his toys Luna stood up and then quickly sat next to Hermione on the sofa.  “It is quite natural to be scared, after everything you’ve been through.  Ron had faith in you.”

 

“What?”  Hermione’s head snapped up.  “Faith?  In what?”

 

“That you’d be able to make the Malfoy time-turner work.  The six people who died from using them weren’t as smart as you.”  As the small boy squirmed in her arms Luna adjusted him and he fell quickly back to sleep.  “Daddy says you’re a miracle.”

 

“A miracle?”  Hermione’s laugh was mirthless.  “How has what I’ve been through a miracle?”

 

“Oh, historically people who used time-turners for more than a year went insane or killed themselves.  You did it for eight years.  It’s a record.”  She tilted her head at Hermione.  “Were you going back so you could be with Ron?”

 

And there it was; the question that Hermione had asked herself for years.  The question that had kept her up at night, searching for her true feelings, her true motivation.  As the little boy shifted and made sleepy noises in Luna’s arms it all became crystal clear.  For the first time in over a decade, she knew.  “No.  My parents.”

 

Luna smiled and patted her on the arm.  “That’s what I told Ron, but I don’t think he really wanted to know the answer.  I think he was afraid you’d try to change things between us.  I like being Mrs. Weasley.  Molly was very helpful when the boys were born.  Shall we eat now?”

 

To say that it was one of the strangest meals in Hermione’s life would not be a lie.  There she was, sitting across from Mrs. Ron Weasley, Luna Weasley, and their sons.  The Thai food didn’t seem to be as hot as she remembered, and it was while she looked at Luna with her oldest son, trying to show him how to hold chopsticks properly, that she knew in her heart of hearts that she did love Ron, but that she would never love him as more than a friend.  How close a friend would yet to be determined, but all doubts about her possible future with Ron were gone.  It just wasn’t to be.  After all those years she knew she had made a choice.  And her choice wasn’t Ron.

 

“A glowing tattoo.  Very peculiar.  Is that Greek?”  Luna nodded towards Hermione’s wrist.

   
The tattoo did glow a soft blue, flared, and then faded.  When she could speak again Hermione nodded.  “Yes.  It’s Greek.”

 

“The Oracle is quite frightening, isn’t she?  Daddy tried to interview her once but came back without a story and couldn’t remember my name for a week.”  She put several noodles in her mouth and tilted her head.  “You’re going to need help finding them, aren’t you?  I can help if you’d like.”

 

“Finding…”  Hermione stared at her in disbelief.  “You know about…and you’re offering to help?”

 

“Oh yes.”  Luna smiled.  “I want Oz to know that all of the friends in his Daddy’s picture are still his Daddy’s friends.”

 

After Luna ensured that Oz told Auntie Hermione goodbye in his polite voice Mrs. Weasley and her boys left the cottage.  Once they had left Hermione sat outside in the garden for a long time.  She knew that so many of the old aches were fading, but in their wake they left holes.  Holes that needed to be filled by something.  It was almost midnight when she went back into the cottage, pulled out a piece of paper and started writing.  It was too late to send Harry the owl; she’d do it in the morning.  Eventually though, Harry would answer, and then it would begin.  She would find all of those time-turners if it was the last thing she ever did on the face of the earth.

 

In Greece, Elizabeth Kyrie waved her hand across the hearth and watched a frayed string begin to repair itself.


	3. Remember Sunday

**Remember Sunday**

 

The story of Hermione Granger’s reappearance into the wizarding world had several effects on the general populace, one being the re-emergence of Draco Malfoy back into the thoughts of not only the subscribing readers of _The Daily Prophet_ but those of the Aurors.  The special edition of one of the more unseemly publications that had sprung up after Voldemort’s defeat, a tabloid that specialized in scandal and innuendo, had brought back the Malfoy name into public consciousness.  It was a story almost as fascinating as that of Ms. Granger.  After Voldemort’s downfall Lucius Malfoy had thrown himself upon the mercies of the Wizangamot, pleading for not only his life but that of his wife and son, claiming that he had wanted to leave the Death Eaters but with the Dark Lord’s unwavering eye and the lack of a wand he was unable to do so.  Narcissa Malfoy had given evidence as well, surprisingly corroborated by none other than Harry Potter, that she had been the one to deceive Voldemort at the very end to allow Harry’s final confrontation with the evil wizard.  After long deliberation and heated discussion Lucius Malfoy was fined an outrageous amount of Galleons, forced to sell Malfoy Manor and would be on Auror probation for ten years.  Narcissa received a lighter sentence, but it was Draco Malfoy’s fate that fascinated the public.

 

Draco Malfoy attended a modified seventh year curriculum under the watchful eyes of the Ministry appointed instructors.  He, along with other children of Death Eaters and those whose allegiances were suspect, were given three years of probation.  At first it seemed that Draco welcomed not only the absence of his parents but the chance to truly make good, but it was not to be.  Looking back it was quite obvious, but at the time everyone simply thought he was on his way to straightening out his life; he studied diligently, specifically the subject of time, and had been one of the best students in the ‘readjustment classes’ regarding charms and enchantments.  After completing the required classes and tests he took a small position in a firm that specialized in creating enchanted household objects, the magical refrigerators and other items that could be found in almost every magical kitchen.  The incessant crowds of reporters and photographers that followed him soon realized that he was not going to give them what they expected, glares and threats, and eventually drifted off onto other stories.  Later reflection clearly showed that instead of toeing the line he was simply biding his time, waiting not only for the press to relinquish their fascination but also for his father’s infamy to die down.

 

The combination of Lucius and Draco’s shared hatred for the righteousness of the Aurors and Ministry manifested itself into a loose affiliation of people who had been cast out of the new government, the refuse that had always existed on the margins.  Instead of having a Dark Mark permanently on their arm they had something harder to locate; a likeminded belief that they would never be able to achieve what was rightly theirs unless they took it by any means necessary.  Instead of death and terror, however, they went about it by exploiting the unspoken desires of the general wizarding population.  Fortune, power, sex, drugs…those were their stock and trade.  If any Muggles could have seen what Lucius and Draco were doing they would recognize it immediately; organized crime.  Lucius kept the front of a reformed businessman, investing in wizarding rebuilding projects, donating money to worthy causes, anything to keep up the appearance that he had turned a new leaf.  Draco did the same, working in the enchantment factory, but when the time came he was the one who broke from the illusion.  Lucius ran the respectable front of the family while Draco did the dirty work, organizing the thieves, the assassins, the poison makers, and especially the artisans of dark objects.  The silver time-turners were a personal project of his, and while they did not have the desired effect, they did bring in vast quantities of Galleons.  There were drawbacks to the design, he never did get the combination of time-turner and portkey to work particularly well, but the idiots bought them, hoping to go back far enough into time to avoid being caught with a mistress, to make a Quidditch bet that would pay off spectacularly, all manner of things.

 

The Auror Corps was nothing but predictable in regards to the sudden appearance of the silver time-turners.  They swept the unsavory neighborhoods, brought in the usual suspects for questioning, all of the things that Draco knew they would.  He had counted on it, actually.  The stories in the papers did nothing but drive up demand.  The fact that he’d willingly let a large quantity of them be confiscated only gave him a sense of surety; with the Auror Corps in possession of a good amount of stock they would surely think they had the bulk of his supplies.  That thought made him smile each night as he went to sleep.

 

Sleep became much harder to find, though, as Draco was not pleased by the events regarding Hermione Granger’s reappearance into the wizarding world, a lesson that one unfortunate underling learned the hard way.  The use of the Cruciatus curse hammered that painfully home to the rest of the grubby wizards in the abandoned warehouse somewhere off the coast of Wales, as the luckless wizard writhed on the floor in agony.  It was sheer misfortune on his part that he was the one to bring Draco the paper which recounted Hermione’s testimony in front of the Wizangamot.  After expending his rage upon the hapless wizard Draco roughly took the paper and without saying a word he disappeared into what the wizards called his office.

 

It had all been going so well for Draco, and now the reappearance of that Granger mudblood threatened everything.  It had been so much easier with her out of the way.  Perhaps if she was permanently out of the way it would go much easier.  As the thought of Hermione Granger’s lifeless face swam before him Draco Malfoy settled down for a long, deep and happy sleep.

 

 

-ooo-

 

As Hermione sat outside her little cottage and sipped tea she realized that it always came back to time.  She had meddled with it and was suffering the consequences.  As a bird flitted about, grabbed a few stray leaves and flew away Hermione realized her current problem was that she now had too much time on her hands; she was at loose ends, and was not dealing with it well.  Harry and Ginny came over often, sometimes with the children, and for those few moments she had something to focus upon.  After they left, though, she was by herself and the images of Kyria of Delphi filled her head.  She had to do something.  Anything.  She had been given a task, she had to find those silver time-turners.  It was as if the Horcrux hunt was beginning again, albeit with much less hanging in the balance.

 

After preparing a small lunch of leftover cheese and half-stale bread she sat upon her sofa and ate almost mechanically, hardly tasting the food.  The year she spent with Harry and Ron searching for the Horcruxes kept spinning through her thoughts until she hit on a realization; she needed the two of them again.  They were a team.  Of course, back then it had all been so easy, but with everything that had happened over the years, not to mention wives and children…

 

Thankfully a knock at her door stopped Hermione’s painful reverie.  Harry or Ginny would be able to help her take her mind of things, especially if they brought the children.  It was a very surprised Hermione that greeted Molly Weasley.

 

“Mrs. Weasley, I…do come in.”

 

The years had been somewhat kind to Molly; her hair had grown greyer, she had gained a bit of weight, but her fierce protectiveness had not ebbed one iota.

 

“Thank you, dear.  Ginny said how dreadfully you’ve been eating, so I just brought you a few things.”  She bustled into the small kitchen and sat down the bags on the table.  After turning to Hermione she had a sad look on her face.  “You poor thing, after all that you went through…”

 

Hermione soon found herself in Molly’s arms, and while she did not cry she knew tears were close to the surface.  After everything that had happened between her and Ron, here she was, comforting her.  “Oh Molly, I’m so sorry.”

 

“I know, I know, its ok now.  You’re here and things will get better.”  Molly held her at arm’s length.  “Now there’s no need to go over all of that awfulness that happened while you were away.  The children have told me everything, so we won’t dwell on that, will we?”  Molly saw Hermione’s meager plate on the coffee table.  “Oh Merlin, Hermione, you can’t build up your strength eating things like that.  Sit down and I’ll fix you a proper plate, don’t argue with me.”

 

 _My almost Mum-in-Law is in my kitchen fixing me something to eat._   Hermione felt the awkwardness seem to envelop her, almost the same feeling as the first time she spoke with Luna.  As Molly waved her wand and prepared the food Hermione wondered what she would say to her; the last time she’d spoken to Molly it had been strained, as it was right after she’d broken up with Ron.  Molly had paid her a visit, asking what he son had done wrong, but Hermione’s response hadn’t come out right and the two had almost shouted at each other.  Now, almost a decade later there she was.

 

“There you go, dear.  Much healthier.”  Molly slid a plate over to Hermione and sat on a chair.  “It isn’t polite to eat while one is talking, something Ron has never learned, so I’ll just talk for a moment.”  She took out her knitting and began working with a dark blue yarn.  “I am sorry that our last conversation was so…heated.  I realize now that you did the right thing.  I noticed it, of course, what mother wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to believe it.  I knew that you and Ron would never be married.  I could see it in your eyes.  But a mother can hope…”

 

“Molly…”

 

“Eat, dear, then talk.  After all the horrible things you children went through I hoped that you would finally be happy, finally be able to put all that behind you.  It just isn’t possible, I’m afraid.  Arthur and I had some very dark days of our own, without Fred there, and eventually we realized that happily ever after only comes in children’s stories.  We make do with what we have, and as much as we want to forget the past it is always there.  If anybody understands why you did what you did with the time-turner it’s me.  After all the letters I shared with your poor Mum…”

 

“What?”  Hermione sat her fork down and looked in shock at Molly.  “You and Mum wrote each other?”

 

“Oh yes, yes we did.  She knew I would be able to look after you in ways she couldn’t as a Muggle.  I wish I would have kept the letters, but I’m afraid I burnt them when you were out with Ron and Harry during that horrible year.  Didn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands, you know.”  She sighed.  “And when I found out that your parents decided to stay in Australia, and what happened after you brought back their memories…broke my heart.”  She stopped her knitting needles and took a deep breath.  She knew what effect the conversation was having on Hermione.  “Hermione, dear, I hope you don’t mind but I’ve always thought of you as one of my own.”

 

That brought a chuckle from Hermione.  “Harry and I knew that.”

 

“Yes, well, you both needed a bit of mothering, didn’t you?  You did then, and you do now, so I’m going to speak to you as I would my children.”  She sat her wand down.  “Hermione, if I change things I would, but we both know that’s not possible, you more than anyone.  The past is the past, and you can’t stay here in this little cottage dwelling on your mistakes for the rest of your life.  You, my dear, need to do something.  Anything.  Percy said something about the Ministry…”

 

“No, that’s out.  Part of my probation terms.”  Hermione sat back against the sofa.  “And Hogwarts is out as well.  Who would want me teaching their children?  I’m sure that would go well.  Imagine the headlines.”

 

“Of course, dear, but there are other options besides the Ministry and Hogwarts, despite what most of the wizarding world thinks.  Now this may surprise you, but I had lunch with Luna and the boys the other day and she did have an idea.  A very good idea.”

 

A slow realization dawned in Hermione’s mind as she replayed the conversation with Luna in her head.  Luna had offered to help find the other silver time-turners.  “Molly, you’re saying that I should go look for the other time-turners?”

 

“Percy and I had a long talk about it.  Apparently this Kyria of Delphi person is part of some rather deep magic, and if she’s not only given you a task but a mark…”

 

Hermione’s hand flew to her wrist.

 

“Yes, dear, I know about that.  I’ve spoken to Ron, and…”

 

“Ron.”  Hermione shook her head.  “I’m not ready to see him.”

 

“You’ll have to eventually, you know.  I believe supper at The Burrow on Sunday will do.  I’ll expect you before noon.  Don’t worry, Arthur’s granted you Floo access again.”  Her eyes softened.  “He’s happy now, Hermione, but he’ll always care for you.  Remember, if it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be sitting here today, would we?  Come along, then, eat.  I won’t have your plate growing cold.”

 

For the rest of the meal Hermione sat and listened as Molly recounted Weasley family events, catching her up on things that her other guests had never broached.  Percy was married to a witch who worked at Flourish & Blotts named Audrey and they had two girls, the oldest named Molly.  Bill and Fleur were doing well, both still worked at Gringott’s, and their two girls and one boy were growing rapidly, although they did speak too much French for Molly’s tastes.  Charlie had been married to a Romanian woman for the last two years and their continued absence from family events was a sore point for most of the family except for Bill, who kept reminding his mum that Charlie would never acquiesce to her constant need for visits.  She had been thrilled for Harry and Ginny, of course, but it was the youngest two sons that had helped turn her hair grey.  Ron’s story didn’t need much explanation, obviously, but George?  It pained Molly grievously that she had two grandchildren who she rarely saw, and her exasperation at George’s antics hadn’t been tempered by the loss of Fred.

 

As the last bite disappeared from Hermione’s plate Molly put away her knitting and stood up.  “That’s one good meal, and I’ve left a few things in the kitchen for later.  I’m so glad you’re safe now, Hermione.  Remember, Sunday at The Burrow, and if you’re not there I’m sending Arthur to fetch you.”

 

Hermione stood.  “Yes, Molly.”

 

Molly walked over and gave her a hug.  “I’m sorry; what was that?”

 

Hermione’s shoulders eased as she knew exactly what was expected.  After everything that had happened, after all the times she’d replayed speaking to Molly, it was as if she’d been swaddled in a warm blanket.  “Yes, Mum.”

 

Molly patted her on the back and then held her at arm’s length.  “Much better.  Remember, Sunday.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Hermione felt as if she could physically touch time; watch it slip through her fingers like so much water in a basin, ever eluding her grasp.  That feeling was almost overwhelming as she Flooed into The Burrow that Sunday, stomach doing flip-flops as if she’d just Apparated.  After being met by Molly she cautiously talked to Arthur and realized that she was not the first one to appear; Ron, Luna and their boys were out in the garden.  Thankfully she was spared any course of action by Ginny and Harry’s arrival with their children, and before she could even think about Ron everyone else arrived, even Charlie with his wife Uta, who had only met the family a handful of times.  If she could have Hermione would have hugged Charlie for bringing over a distraction; everyone was well acquainted with her story, too much so perhaps, but Uta was still an unknown quantity.  As Molly hovered around Charlie and Uta she saw her opportunity and slipped out the back door into the garden.

 

As the clouds masked the sun, threatening rain, Luna sat on a blanket next to a tree with the baby while Ron showed his oldest son how to de-gnome a garden.  The fact that the little gnomes, once they’d been spun around, staggered dizzyingly into the bushes was ignored by Hermione as she watched Ron bend down on one knee to point out something to his blonde son.  She stood stock still, watching them, until the little boy saw her and ran to her side.

 

“Dad’s making the gnomeses dizzy!  It’s funny, come help!”

 

Hermione let the little boy take her hand and lead her over to his father, and as she slowly walked with him she caught Ron’s eyes.  She knew the signs, she’d seen them so many times, and he was still unable to hide his unease.  His shoulders straightened involuntarily, his breathing picked up and he jammed his hands into his pockets.

 

“Dad, Hermioninnie’s gonna help!”

 

Ron looked down at his son.  “Her name’s Hermione, Oz.”  He glanced up at her.  “You don’t have to help, you know.  I know how you are about the gnomes.”

 

She pushed her hair back and gave the boy a weak smile.  “I think you’re doing a good job; why don’t you show me how to do it.”

 

As the little boy ran off to find a gnome Hermione and Ron stood there watching him, silent.  Finally Hermione couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“Ron…”

 

“Don’t.”  He shook his head.  “No use.”  After a long silent spell he spoke without looking at her.  “Harry says you’re doing better.  Luna, too.”

 

“Much better, thank you.”  She nudged a clump of dirt with the toe of her shoe.  “Honestly, Ron…thank you, if you hadn’t….”

 

“But I did, didn’t I?”  He glanced over to the tree where Luna sat and then turned back to watch his son struggle with a gnome.  “Spin him, Oz, spin him!”

 

Hermione’s voice was very soft.  “Luna said you had faith.  In me.  Even after everything that happened.”

 

Ron’s laugh was short and sarcastic.  “Yeah.  A lot happened.”

 

“I’m sorry you were suspended, Ron.  What were you thinking?  I’m glad you did it, obviously, but you weren’t thinking about your future…”

 

He turned and looked at her for the first time, truly looked at her.  “That’s it, isn’t it?  The future?  I was thinking about the future, ‘Mione, that’s why I did it.  I have a future with Luna and the boys, but you, how you were in St. Mungo’s?  You didn’t have one.  And it wasn’t right.  It wasn’t _fair_.  Not after all we did with Harry.  And it didn’t matter that you chucked me, it just wasn’t _fair_.  Dunno if I’ll go back to the Aurors Corps or not, things are going well with George if I can get him to keep it in his pants and not try to shag every single witch that comes in the shop that’s of age.”

 

“I really don’t care about who George is shagging, Ron.”  She gave him a slight look of irritation.

 

Ron swallowed hard.  “Look, ‘Mione, we were friends before anything happened and I wasn’t going to let you sit in St. Mungo’s for the rest of your life and think it was the Tri-Wizard Tournament.  People change, grow up.  You leaving me might have been one of the best things for me if you hadn’t run off to Australia.  I could have handled that.  Eventually, anyway.  But when you disappeared…”  He broke his attention from her and looked out to his son.  “Spin ‘em faster, Oz.”

 

“You’ve changed, Ron.”

 

“Bound to after eight years.  You look good, though.”

 

“Now I know you’re just being polite; I look horrid.”

 

“Better than when we found you.”  He turned to look at her again.  “So I guess this is how it is now, huh?  Awkward conversations, Mum dragging you to the Burrow, you’ve got that little cottage…”

 

“For now.”  She bit her lip slightly.  “Ron, I have no good reason for asking you this, after everything that’s happened, not to mention the fact that you have a family now, but…”

 

“Luna said this would happen.  She packed a bag for me last week.  Can’t get as much junk in it as that old purse of yours, but it’s a good bit of stuff.”

 

Hermione’s response never made it from her brain to her lips, as Luna came over to them, a sleeping son in her arms.  “I’m so glad you two got to talk.  I told Ron that you two needed each other to find those time-turners.  Harry won’t be as easy, Ginny’s going to be rather angry at him.  I’ll help her with the children, though.”  She handed Augustus to Ron and gave him a quick kiss.  “I’d better go inside and help Molly.  You two can talk to Harry.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Viktor Krum sat in his usual corner booth, dismayed at the lack of business in his pub.  For a few fleeting weeks his business had boomed as the story of his involvement in the Delphi Matter, as the papers called it, was public knowledge.  He’d recounted everything that the British Ministry had permitted, keeping some things back as ordered, but a few fleeting moments it was as if he was back with the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, fielding questions and posing for a few pictures.  Eventually, though, business returned to normal as the story ceased its hold on the public consciousness, leaving him pondering, as always, the viability of running a pub with the limited available magical clientele of the region.

 

As he spun the half-empty vodka bottle on the table in lazy circles with his wand he realized that there were only two things that kept him going; his wife Penka and his son Nikola.  At least he would be able to see his son’s Quidditch match the next afternoon in the Headmaster’s box, far away from the prying eyes of people who still wanted to discuss Hermione Granger.  Penka had been very understanding of his actions, comforting, as she knew and loved the honorable streak that ran through him as thick as one of the old forest trees.  She had told him that it was all over, that she was proud of him, and that he had done his part.  It was true, he thought, as he watched the bottle spin slowly; his part was done.

 

Viktor Krum, however, was wrong.

 

When the door opened to reveal three travelers in heavy cloaks he momentarily thought that the night was changing to his favor, but as they approached he noticed the state of their robes.  Dirty, tattered, patched.  The fact that they kept the cowls of their robes over their faces didn’t bode well.  People with enough money to spend in his pub never hid their faces.  Another one drink and done crowd.  He didn’t bother to get up from his booth to greet them.  Instead of going to the bar to order a drink, though, the three travelers walked directly to his booth.

 

“Yes?”  He looked up at them half-heartedly.  “Boris will get drinks.  Go to bar.”

 

“I’m not interested in a drink, Viktor.”  Harry Potter took down the cowl of his robe.  “We’re here to see you.”

 

“Harry?  Harry!”  Viktor slid out of the booth and clapped Harry on his shoulders with both hands.  “My friend, you never pay drinks at my pub.”  He looked at the other two figures.  “Come, friends of Harry are my friends.”

 

At that moment the other two figures lowered their cowls, revealing not only the face of Ron Weasley but the nervous visage of Hermione Granger.

 

“Ron?  Herrmyownee?”  Viktor’s eyes went wide.  “I need drink.  Then talk.”

 

Momentarily he four sat around a table near the back of the pub with a bottle of Viktor’s best vodka.  As Harry and Ron talked Viktor noticed that Hermione had not touched a drop of alcohol, so he motioned towards his wife.

 

“Penka, this is Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Herrmyownee Granger.  Bring her coffee.  Take vodka.”

 

The dark-haired wife of Viktor Krum did not move.  “Was good you helped her.  Viktor needs be here, not out there.  We have business to run.  I get coffee.”

 

After apologizing to Viktor Hermione accepted her coffee with gratitude, and then the three British visitors began to relay the events of the last two months.  Harry was officially working the case of the missing Malfoy time-turners, and the fact that he had brought Ron and Hermione along with him wasn’t exactly common knowledge in the Auror Corps.  They had tracked Malfoy all over some of the worst parts of the world, had been moderately successful, but in the end he had always escaped arrest.  There were approximately twenty silver time-turners that hadn’t been accounted for as of yet, and despite what the captured ledgers of Draco Malfoy had indicated they knew that more were out there.  That was the least of their worries, though; as long as Malfoy remained at large the possibility existed that he would be able to manufacture more of them.

 

“So it is Malfoy.  Stop him and all stops.”  Viktor sat his glass on the table.  “Makes sense, but not me.  Why me?  As Penka says this is life now.  Nikola has match tomorrow.  What you need from me?”

 

“Help.”  Harry leaned forward.  “We know that Radomir Popov was at Durmstrang when you were there, and we’ve got evidence that he’s in with Malfoy, one of his most trusted people.  According to our sources he’s in charge of all the Malfoy business east of Belgrade.”

 

Ron took a drink of vodka, draining the glass.  “And Viktor, hate to say it, mate, but Durmstrang’s known for turning out Dark Wizards.  Even if this Popov bloke didn’t go dark he’s still a bad guy.  You know everybody here, we’re just…”  He spread his hands out in frustration.

 

“Herrmyownee?”  Viktor turned to her.  “What you think?”

 

It was almost too much for her, the dark atmosphere of the pub, Ron and Harry so close and Viktor across the table.  As her heart wanted nothing more than to go back and hide in the little cottage she caught sight of her blue tattoo, the Greek word that Kyria has imprinted on there in the flames.  The possible futures that she had seen in the fire swam into her consciousness, unbidden, terrible, and she knew what she must do.  The memory of that fateful Sunday dinner at The Burrow came into her mind, and after a steadying breath she looked over to Harry.

 

“After the Quidditch match.  I owe it to him to see his son play.”

 

Viktor nodded.  “Very well.  After match I help you.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Far away from Viktor’s pub the shadows of a fire shimmered and shifted upon the walls of a cave.  In the deep red robes of the order Kyria passed her hands through the flame without flinching, revealing a strand of string that was slowly beginning to wend its way together in a slow, circular motion.  Once more she passed her hand through the flames, watching as the fire slowly returned to its usual deep red with blue tips.  As if realizing the air had changed she stood slowly, put the cowl of her robe up and turned towards the entrance of the cave.

 

A man stood there, as they had so often of late, and she knew what he wanted.  Prophecy.  She had turned them all away before, but this one was different.  This one was connected to the skein of Hermione Granger.  Kyria knew what was in his heart, knew all of the unnamed thoughts that raged through his mind, and she knew what he must hear.  She held out her hands towards him.

 

“Lucius Malfoy.  Deceiver.  You have come for prophecy.”

 

“Yes.”  Lucius stood stock-still, his hand upon his the silver head of his cane.  “I have come to hear of the fortunes of my family.”

 

Her head turned slowly to him.  “I will give you words, for a price.”

 

“Money? Bah.  I have Galleons upon Galleons.”  He started to walk forward to her but found that he was unable to move.  “What trickery is this?”

 

Kyria moved her hands and Lucius Malfoy floated in the air towards her, stopping a meter away.  “I have no need for what you call money.  It matters not.  I will give you a choice.  You or the boy.  Choose.”

 

“What?  I’ll double your price, name it.”

 

“You or the boy.  Choose.”

 

He sneered at her.  “I did not come here to make bargains with…beings such as yourself.  A choice?  Explain.”

 

“One year.”  She pulled back her cowl to reveal her icy blue eyes.  “One year less.  You or the boy.  Choose.  Now!”

 

“Draco, Draco, not me!”  He recoiled, flinging his hair back abruptly.  “I still have plans.”

 

“Very well, the choice is made.”  Kyria levitated him over the fire.  “You will receive your prophecy.”

 

As Lucius Malfoy went into the fire he found that he could not scream.  The flames engulfed him, and instead of burning him they seemed to cover him as water.  The vision surged into his mind, blocking out all attempt at rational thought, and he simply saw.  On a far hill above a lake his wife Narcissa stood talking to a witch in a robe, the other witch’s cowl pitched forward to hide her face.  Narcissa took the woman’s hand and the two of them looked across the lake as birds darted and dived towards the water’s surface.  In Narcissa’s other hand was a book, and with a sudden realization Lucius Malfoy knew exactly what book she held; the ledger of all his deals, his arrangements, his dealings with the darker side of the magical world.  And as the other woman took the book she broke her grasp of Narcissa’s hand and pushed back the cowl to reveal her face Lucius felt his heart sink, for her knew the woman’s face.  Oh yes, he knew that face, and he knew what it meant; eternal torment.  His viewpoint shifted and he seemed to focus in on the other woman’s face, and as he got closer her eyes seemed to bore into his very soul.  The eyes of Hermione Granger.

 

And as suddenly as it had begun it was over.  Lucius lay panting on the rough stone floor of the cave, gasping for air.  All of the plans that he and Draco had made, all of the Galleons he had paid, all of the charades he’d been a part of to clear his name, they would all be fruitless if that vision came to pass.  His hand tightened around his cane and he flung the wand out of the hollow shell of the cane and pointed it at Kyria.

 

Unfazed, Kyria of Delphi spoke a single word.  “No.”

 

In that instant everything went black for Lucius.  When he awoke several hours later in the moonlight on the rocky shores of a Greek stream he realized that his wand was broken.  He moved cautiously, careful to verify that the cave hag hadn’t done anything else to him, but after a few moments of cautious anticipation of pain he was relieved to find that nothing was wrong with him physically.

 

As he made his way downstream towards the lights of a Muggle town Lucius Malfoy knew one thing for certain; Hermione Granger must die.


	4. Payment is Required

**Payment is Required**

 

Kyria of Delphi sat at the fire, watching several skeins of thread slowly revolve in the flames.  The thread that kept most of her attention was the one that belonged to the one who should have know that to meddle with time resulted in consequences: Hermione Granger.  Her fate had been unbalanced, the individual threads of the string undulated in the fire, twisting ever so slightly and began fastening themselves to the main part of the whole, edging closer to completion, but the final outcome was still in doubt.  There were many things that the hubris of the witch had damaged; many intersecting skeins had been affected.  She waved her hand through the fire and saw the connections; Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, Viktor Krum, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy.  All of those skeins were changed, the future manipulated and modified, and the eventual end was still too feint to grasp fully.

 

As the shadows danced upon the walls of the cave she reached forward into the fire, towards the thread that belonged to Draco Malfoy.  The bargain had been made, it could not be altered, and the choice was irrevocable.  Taking the skein between her fingers she pinched off a year from the thread.  As the excess fell into the fire and crumbled to ash she measured it once again.  Lucius Malfoy had made a choice, and he would have to live with the consequences.  As the interconnected threads slowly spiraled in the fire she compared the Malfoy threads; what fools wizards are, believing they can manipulate all and bend not only the elements but time itself to their will.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Lucius Malfoy was not the first wizard to have an unpleasant meeting with Kyria of Delphi, nor would he be the last.  His absence from his usual routine was duly noted and excuses were made regarding his nonattendance at the opening for the latest Center for Muggle Tolerance in Wrach Ddafaden.  His assistant assured the Welsh villagers that Mr. Malfoy would attend another time, presented the bag of Galleons in his name and smiled for the cameras.

 

In reality it took several days for Lucius to reach Wizarding kind, as every attempt to enter a magical town left him dazed and weary.  After the first attempt he simply wrote it off as an aftereffect of the hag from the cave, but on the fourth attempt he simply knew better; she was punishing him.  Of course Lucius dealt with the development in the same manner as he treated most failures; he cursed, tried to hit a rabbit with a rock and dealt damage to the local trees that would result in stunted growth for years.  Locals simply considered that a storm or blight had affected the landscape, and in truth they were not far off, but the cause of that blight was vastly different than their imaginations.  Eventually, though, Lucius wended his way to a small magical village southeast of Delphi near the sea, and once he had made the proper identification with the local version of Gringotts he purchased a portkey and returned home, once again wandless.

 

The procurement of a replacement wand was the second highest priority for Mr. Malfoy.  While waiting for Ollivander’s horrible new assistant, a woman named Briesmīgs who was obviously one of the teeming masses of magical refugees that had flooded into England following the Dark Lord’s defeat, Lucius knew that not only his future, but that of his business, depended upon finally ridding the world of that too-clever-for-her-own-good mudblood Granger.  She must be eliminated, that much was sure to him, but the particulars were still too ill-defined for his tastes.  More troubling than her continued existence, though, was the vision that that detestable thing in Greece has presented to him; his wife, Narcissa, handing that mudblood not only a book but his book, the book of secrets, the ledger that contained all of his true dealings.  As soon as he had finally obtained a new wand he would deal with that immediately.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Hermione Granger wrapped her cloak about her shoulders tightly, as the warmth of the sporadically placed fireplaces in Viktor’s pub did little to ward off the chill that seemed to coat every conceivable surface.  Her companion for the afternoon, Viktor’s wife Penka, had treated her with distant politeness, offering coffee and sustenance, but little in regard to conversation.  It had been decided that Viktor would take Ron and Harry with him to the match, but that Hermione’s appearance would cause too much disturbance in regards to the English wizards ultimate goal; information.  The stillness of the pub in the early afternoon, combined with Penka’s fitful conversation, led Hermione to the one place that she had been careful to avoid as of late; her conscience.

 

As she sat in front of a fireplace and watched the flames she kept going back in her mind to the cave, to the fire that had shown her the complete madness of her previous life.  All those futures she had wished for in the small recesses of her mind flashed through her brain like so many shadows dancing on a wall.  The future with Ron, which had almost been.  The future with Harry, which she had never considered except for a very small moment one week in her third year.  But most of all, the future which troubled her most was the one that she remembered involving Viktor.  She had seen it clearly, as clear as any of the other visions, and combined with her current location and company it made her begin a slow spiral down.

 

“I deserve none of this, and all of it.”  Her words came out almost as a gasp.  “What’s real anymore?”

 

“We make own reality.”

 

Penka’s voice came from behind Hermione, and she turned to look at the woman, and truly looked at her for the first time as her guilt would not allow that beforehand.  Penka Krum was not a beauty by any stretch, but she was not homely, either.  The angles of her face reflected the light of the fire, and with her brusquely cut brown hair and dark eyes Hermione could only wonder what led Viktor to marry her.  It wasn’t her personality, she thought, but then reconsidered her position.  If she had been married to Ron, and Viktor would have shown up in the condition she was in, and with a history similar to hers, then she would have felt the same way.

 

Finally Hermione gathered the will to answer her.  “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t have to…”

 

“No.”  Penka shook her head.  “Asking questions about what could happened is fool’s game.  We make choices, we live with choices, we move on.”

 

It was all too much for Hermione and the old pangs of guilt surged.  “But if Harry and Viktor hadn’t helped me I was on my way here to see Viktor and I would have changed everything, he wouldn’t know you, would never see your son play…”

 

Surprisingly Penka moved in front of Hermione, knelt and took her hands.  “Viktor told me.  No one should go through what you go through.  You were in wrong brain.  Not thinking.  Too much thinking, maybe.  It not matter.  You are strong.  You help Potter and Weasley when you were but girl to bring down evil wizard.  Too much for one so young.  You gave up parents to protect, could not know outcome.  Was war, war makes people do decisions not always wisest, but best at time.  You do not love my Viktor like I do.  Nothing change that.  I know him, he good man, very good man.  You will get better.  Move on.  Live.”

 

“And what a life.”  Hermione pulled her hands away and covered her face.  “After all I’ve done…”

 

Penka’s clasped hands lay in her lap.  “Is true then, what papers say?  What Viktor say?  Ffftt.”  She made a face and shook her head.  “Matter not.  Matter what you do now.  And day after.  And day after that.  Live.  Other choice is stupid.”  Penka stood up slowly.  “Are cold, I fix that.”  With a wave of her wand she cast a warming charm on Hermione’s robe.  After looking at the downcast Gryffindor Penka wiped her hands on her apron, smoothing out invisible creases.  “You need food, will be back soon.”

 

As Penka’s footsteps dwindled away Hermione sat looking at the fire, the words of Viktor’s wife ringing in her ears.  It was in that still silent repose that Hermione noticed the small plate of food that appeared later, but she left it untouched, her gaze still focused on the fire.  Always the fire.

 

It was in that manner that the returning Quidditch spectators found her an hour later.  Harry came to her first.

 

“How are you doing?”

 

For a second the anger at her situation seemed to reach crescendo, and she rounded on him abruptly.  “How do you _think_ I’m doing, Harry?  Wonderful.  Just _wonderful_.”

 

Harry edged back a few steps.  “All right, then.  Sorry.”

 

Before Hermione could apologize Ron pulled up a chair next to the fire.  “You would have hated it, match lasted forever.  Viktor’s son Nikola’s a fair flier, though, course with a dad like that it’d be hard not to.  Maybe the Cannons can sign him in a few years.”  He watched her roll her eyes at him and sadly suppressed a smile.  “Sorry, you never were one for Quidditch.”  He sat in silence with her for a while but then took a deep breath.  “We found out some things on Popov, the bloke that’s in with the ferret.  Everybody’s got a weakness and it turns out he’s got one right up your alley.  Books.”

 

“Books?”  She turned to him and arched an eyebrow.  “How is that going to help us?”

 

“Well…”  Ron shuffled a foot across the pub floor.  “Rumor is that he’s looking for a book on dark magic, something inter malem or summing like that.”

 

“Interius Malum.  The book of inner evil.”  Hermione sat up a little straighter in her chair.  “According to sources it’s a dark magic book that’s supposed to have been lost over nine hundred years ago and only one copy was ever documented.”

 

Ron nodded.  “Yeah, that’s it.  Viktor’s going to work on it from this end, we’re going to go back to London and see if we can trail Malfoy.  Popov’s a right bastard, but he’s as skint as they come.  If he’s gonna get that book he’s going to need Galleons, and if he’s Malfoy’s man…”

 

She stood up suddenly.  “Then why are we waiting?”

 

He motioned for her to sit down.  “Calm down, we need something to eat first.  I’m not doing the Apparition thing all the way back to London on an empty stomach.”

 

As he left Hermione looked around to see Viktor and Harry at a small table, Penka between them.  Ron’s arrival at the table led them all to glance over to Hermione for a moment and then turn hurriedly back to their previous conversation.  It was a small gesture but Hermione didn’t miss it; they were still not sure about her.  She knew in her mind that had to be it, that they were wondering exactly when she would go off the rails, when her grasp on reality would finally slip and then they’d cart her off to St. Mungo’s for the rest of her life.  Almost reflexively she turned to look at them again, and when she did she saw Penka whisper something to Viktor, saw him nod, and then watched Penka disappear into the kitchen.

 

The low murmur of their voices continued for a while and Hermione could stare at nothing more than the tops of her shoes and the shadows of the fire dancing across them.  Time seemed to stumble along until a hand came into her vision, offering assistance out of her seat.  A hand that belonged to Viktor Krum.

 

“Viktor?”  She took his hand and slowly got to her feet.

 

“Herrmyownee, Penka and I talked.  She told me what you say today.  I know is not much, but is far away from London, far away from papers.  You need to get away can always come here.  We have room.  Is quiet, bad for pub, but good for other things.  Do not worry about owl, just come when you need.”

 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open.  Here was Viktor Krum, a man she’d dated very, very briefly at Hogwarts when she was young, a man whose life she’d almost ruined along with that of his wife and son, and he was offering her a place of refuge if she ever needed it.  “Oh my God, Viktor, after everything…why?”

 

“Penka says you need time away from all madness.”  He chuckled softly.  “Plus you go to Tri-Wizard ball with me and not treat me like Quidditch crazy witch.  Did not happen much, people always treated me like Seeker, not Viktor.  I remember.”

 

She hugged him tightly, and after fighting tears she opened her eyes and looked over to Penka.  Mrs. Viktor Krum gave her a warm, slight smile.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Radomir Popov was something of a dashing figure in the world of dark arts book collectors; most of the collectors tended to favor anonymity and the shadows, but Popov seemed to almost relish in his infamy.  While others went about their collections discreetly, never handling transactions unless by associates of associates, he was more of a hands-on type who wanted to not only purchase the book but to make sure of its authenticity.  His official alibi was that he worked as a high-end purveyor of magical artifacts, remnants of history from the ancient days, but everyone knew that this seeming veneer of legality was but a front to his true desires.  Although the magical authorities in Krakow raided his business on several occasions they could never find anything to prove that he dealt in dark artifacts; he always seemed one step ahead.

 

In his personal appearance Popov was also known as rather eccentric, even for wizards, which is saying something.  In his early business life regarding antiquities he happened upon several paintings from the renaissance which depicted the burning of witches by the Catholic Church, and in an act of sneering perversion had appropriated the red robes and hat of a Cardinal.  It was an act that led to many a collector at an auction rethinking their decision to bid on a particular item, as he cut a rather imposing figure in his red robes amongst the dark and muted colors of all the other attendees.  He kept his dark goatee in a point at the bottom and liked to stroke it when contemplating a bid, a mannerism that did not go unnoticed.

 

Fortunately for the antiquities collectors there was a stretch of a year where Popov was not seen at any auctions or shops, which led to a series of rumors.  One such rumor was that he was finally cursed by one of the dark artifacts that he had purchased and had died, while others simply believed that he had gone into respectability.  Those, as well as all of the other innuendo, however, were far from the truth, which was much more mundane.  At one auction Popov had bid an astronomical amount of gold upon a relic that was purported to be a few sheaves of parchment from Merlin’s grimoire, and after not only exceeding the current amount of gold on his person but also half of what he had in the bank he won the item.  Upon returning to his business, however, he deduced that the item in question was certainly a forgery.  The vast outlay of funds for an item that held no possible resale value, in addition to his already growing amount of debt due to his personal lifestyle, put him in an almost untenable situation.

 

It was at that moment that he began his association with Draco Malfoy.

 

Popov used his connections, and the Malfoy Galleons, to amass even more dark items along with the occasional legitimate magical artifact.  He returned to the antiquities scene without fanfare, and all others simply noted that it seemed as if nothing had changed except for the small silver chain that could occasionally be seen under his outer robe draped around his waist.  After that moment he never lost a bid again.  The Malfoy holdings increased their stock of ancient and terrible dark objects, further tightening the Malfoy hold on organized magical crime.

 

When Popov heard of the possible sale of the Interius Malum, he knew that he had to have it.  Draco Malfoy had to have it, which in turn meant that Lucius Malfoy had to have it.  The price would undoubtedly be higher than the amount of gold that was available to him, so Popov determined that the only way to obtain such a large amount of funds would be to appeal to Draco personally.

 

Radomir Popov was many things; educated, shrewd, conniving, deceitful and ruthless.  But the one thing he had never been called, even during his days at Durmstrang, was smart.  It was his downfall.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

“Are you sure it will work?”  Harry looked over to Hermione.

 

She nodded.  “I’m sure.”

 

They sat in a little room above a Muggle pub in Wales, rented for the night with Harry’s last bit of Muggle money.  Ron and Hermione had posed as brother and sister while Harry had remained out of sight in his Invisibility cloak.  The clerk had given them an odd look, not truly believing that Ron and Hermione were siblings, but in that part of town the fewer questions asked the better.  After going over the last two weeks of surveillance notes and the letter from Viktor, the time was rapidly approaching.

 

Ron nodded his head.  “If anyone knows about time spells it’s her, Harry.”

 

Hermione felt her stomach turn over a few times.  Yes, Ron had complimented her, but it also meant that she had to think of _why_ she knew so much about time spells.

 

The key had been a book that had found while chasing Popov for the last two weeks, the book they’d found in a little shop that was marginally legal at best.  _Velum Tempus_ , or The Veil of Time, was last published in 1662, and while distinguished libraries and educational facilities might have a copy in their restricted sections few if any ever saw the light for purchase by the general wizarding population as it was on the list of books that should not be sold.  Using the full power of the Auror Corps Harry had confiscated the book and Hermione had fallen upon it as she once had _Hogwarts: A History_.  While Harry and Ron continued their surveillance of the coming and going of Draco Malfoy in a dilapidated warehouse off the coast of Wales Hermione poured over the book, looking for something, anything to negate the silver time-turners that Malfoy would inevitably employ upon confrontation.  It was at the small end of a long night when she finally found the passage.  It would be hard to construct, as the spell needed not only a potion but specific runes and moonlight.

 

Runes and moonlight were the easy part; the potion was not.  Most of the ingredients were fairly common, almost insignificant items that any potions student could easily procure, but the base and the active component made her shiver when she read the words on the page.  She would need ash from the fire in the cave at Delphi as well as the tears of the Pythia of the Oracle.

 

When she revealed the exact ingredients to Harry and Ron they sat silent as if they had been stunned.  They both knew that Hermione would have to go back there, and as their minds raced Hermione became more resolute.  Kryia of Delphi, the Phythia, had given her the task.  She had to go.

 

Harry ran a hand through his hair.  “Yeah, Ron, I get that.  But I don’t want her to go back there.  I’ll do it.”

 

“No, Harry, it has to be me.”  Hermione put a hand on his.  “I have to do this.  You know it; you just don’t want to admit it.”

 

He solemnly nodded his head.  “Right, right.  I’ll go with you.”

 

“No!  Harry you can’t give up on watching Malfoy!”  Hermione shook her head vigorously, causing her hair to fall about her shoulders.  “If something happens while I’m gone you can do something about it, you’re an Auror.  I’m not.”

 

“And I’m not an Auror right now either.”  Ron fixed his eyes with Harry.  “Sorry, mate.  It’s the truth.  I’ll go with her.”

 

“Ron?”  Hermione’s voice was soft and questioning.  “You don’t have to, you know.”

 

“Nope, I promised Luna I’d help, and I’m not breaking my promise.”  Ron stood up and without another word went to the window.  “Need to rainproof the robes, it’s pouring out there.”

 

Hermione sat in silence and stared at the grubby table.  There were rings on the surface where people had sat bottles or glasses, a few burns from Muggle cigarettes and another deep gash where something heavy had scarred the wood.  _He had promised Luna?  That was it, it wasn’t a sense of loss for what they once had, what could have been, he’d promised his wife._  And then, in a convoluted manner, it came to her.  _He still loves me, but not like it used to be.  I still love him, but not like it used to be.  This is what it is now, what it will be going forward, and I will always be thankful for him._

 

With Penka’s words from the pub resounding through her brain Hermione stood up from the table, took her robe from the back of the chair and cast a waterproofing charm on it.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Narcissa Malfoy was not an early riser.  Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, and the series of life-altering decisions that she had made, she rarely rose before eleven.  The years had been fraught with unbelievable tension since then, first because of her husband’s impending Azkaban sentence, but mostly for her son.  Draco had seemed to finally realize that the fortunes of the Malfoy family resided in his ability to persevere and reforge the public perception of their name.  At first it had been much better than she could have expected, as Lucius escaped a sentence in Azkaban and Draco seemed to thrive without the threat of Voldemort, but it was not to be.  She knew the signs, could read the symbols as well as any seer, and felt herself once again descending into the void.  Her hopes for Draco, born anew that fateful night in the Forbidden Forest become dashed and ashen.  Her son was his father’s son, and little of her remained.  It was obvious in his eyes.  Once he broke with all of her plans and succumbed to his father’s manipulations she knew that she had lost him, perhaps for good.

 

One morning, though, for an unknown reason she woke early, before the sun.  Gathering her dressing gown around her thin shoulders she pushed back her hair and decided to venture down for a cup of tea.  Of course their house elf would have brought it to her upon request, but she felt the need to move, to act, to do something.  As she made her way down the stairs she heard voices, one of which was her husband’s, and became as silent as a churchyard.  Even though their voices were low, the echo of the Manor brought them to her as if on the wind.

 

It was then that she discovered the pact that her husband had made with the Pythia of Delphi, trading a year of their son’s life for his own.  All of the years of inner torment gathered around her as storm clouds, flashes of all the little excuses she made to herself in the middle of the night regarding Lucius’ behavior, all of the things she ignored suddenly became visceral, choking her.  Her son, _their_ son, the son that she had betrayed the Dark Lord to save, their only son, and Lucius willingly shortened his life?  And for what?  A few more Galleons, more power, more…it didn’t matter.

 

She knew more than he was aware of, she could bring him down.  Perhaps fate had given her yet another chance to save her son.  She quietly walked back upstairs, past her bedroom, down the hall and with a slight _alohamora_ opened the door to Lucius’ office.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Ron stood nervously outside the entrance of the cave.  He knew what had happened in there before.  He knew the story that Harry had told, the story that Viktor had told and most importantly the story that Hermione had told.  The Pythia, Kyria, was something old and terrifying despite what her outward appearance said.  She was old, really old, ancient old, and his brother Bill had always said that the ancient ones really knew how to curse someone.  His hands began to sweat as he looked over to Hermione.

 

She sighed deeply.  “Come on, Ron.”

 

He followed her into the cave and watched as the shadows moved across the walls, suddenly stopping.  It was then he looked to the woman in the deep red robes who stood next to the unmoving fire.  She held out her hands and he felt every single hair on his body stand on end.

 

“Hermione Granger, repairer of time, seeker.  I know why you have come.”  Kyria motioned towards Hermione, causing her to float in the air and stop a meter away from her.  “You may ask your questions, but payment is required.”

 

Hermione’s voice wavered, but held an edge of confidence.  “I will gladly pay your price.”

 

“No.  Not you.  Him.”  Kyria pointed to Ron.

 

Hermione watched in fear as Ron’s rigid body floated until it rested beside her, bobbing slightly in the air.  “It’s not him that changed things, it was me!  Me, not him!”

 

“Silence!”  Kyria made a slashing motion with her fingers and Hermione’s voice felt silent.  She looked to Ron.  “Ron Weasley.  Steadfast, meddler, wise.  You will pay my price.  Choose.”

 

“Ch…choose?”  Ron’s eyes were wide as he glanced over to Hermione.  Her lips moved but nothing came out.  He turned back to Kyria.  “What are my choices?”

 

“Look into the fire.”  Kyria motioned him closer to the flames.

 

As Ron peered into the unmoving flames he saw two visions.  The first vision was of him and Hermione in a little house.  Three children with red hair played in the garden, the oldest a girl with Hermione’s bushy brown hair, the middle a son with Weasley red hair and freckles and the third a small girl with fierce red hair, brighter than any of his siblings.  Ron wore an Aurors’ robe while Hermione held parchment from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  Suddenly the scene shifted and he saw Luna, his wife, but she wasn’t his wife.  She sat alone in a little tent while rain pelted the outside, eating a meager meal.  Soon thereafter she put away the plate and rolled over into her pitifully thin sleeping bag and softly cried herself to sleep.  Then the scenes abruptly changed.  He was at home with Luna, Oz on his lap, while the wireless gave out the Quidditch scores.  Augustus was older, two at least, and he played with castle blocks and magical animal toys on the floor.  As Luna shifted Ron saw that she was expecting again, another baby on the way, and somewhere deep in his heart Ron knew that the baby would be a girl.  Again the scenes changed, and he saw Hermione, alone in a garden, sitting in the sun reading a book.  She had a smile on her face, and her eyes showed a peacefulness he hadn’t seen since she’d been found after eight years missing.

 

It was while he looked at Hermione’s face, really looked at it, that he was jerked unceremoniously back to the reality of the cave.

 

“You have a choice, Ron Weasley.  Choose.”

 

He glanced over at Hermione, and the images of them with children swam before his eyes, but he kept going back to Luna.  Luna in that little tent, crying herself to sleep.  Luna at their house, their house, their real house, with the boys and another on the way, the one he knew in his heart would be a girl.  He looked at Kyria and nodded.

 

“You have chosen well, Ron Weasley.”  Kyria looked over to Hermione and waved a hand, causing Hermione to abruptly drop to the floor of the cave in an ungraceful heap.  After Hermione stood up Kyria motioned for her to come close.  “I gave him a choice.  He could go back and disrupt time for you, or he could stay in this stream, the true stream, and live with the consequences.  He did love you, he does love you, but your time as one has passed.  His heart belongs to another.  Know this, Hermione Granger, you could have had that future, but your actions changed everything.  You now know this with certainty.  That was my price.”

 

Tears began to fall from Hermione’s eyes and as she lifted up a hand to wipe them away she looked at Kyria.  The Pythia of Delphi was crying.

 

“Take my tears, Hermione Granger.  Use them to repair time.  Do not return.”

 

Hermione took out the small vial from her robes and gently held it to Kyria’s cheek.  As the shimmering liquid filled the vial she looked into the Pythia’s eyes.  “I’m so sorry, I…I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Kyria stood back from her, fixed her in the eye for several seconds and then turned to Ron and did the same.  Without saying a word she scooped up some ashes from the fire in a little silver bowl and handed them to Ron.  Turning from him she looked to Hermione.  “I am sorry as well.  But you knew the consequences.”  She clapped her hands once and the flames once again began to cast dancing shadows on the wall.  Seconds later Ron and Hermione stood in an empty, dark cave.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The potion took two days to prepare.  It seemed quite ludicrous to Hermione that Polyjuice potion, something trivial in compared to the potion to activate the runes, that a stupid potion to simply change one’s appearance took so long to brew.  The potion she brewed up in a small cauldron was relatively easy; no hard preparation instructions, no slicing this, stirring this anti-clockwise, none of those things.  Simply pop them all in the cauldron, simmer at a low heat for two days and stir twice, once at the beginning and once at the end.  It was while explaining to Harry when it would be ready that she realized the potion wasn’t hard to make because the ingredients were the difficult part of the process.  Harry said that it was probably next to impossible to get tears willingly from Kyria, and Hermione didn’t disagree.

 

Ron had been very quiet since he and Hermione had returned from Greece.  Hermione, surprisingly, was the one who told Harry what had transpired in the cave, that Ron had been given visions and had to make a choice.  She was the one who told him what Kyria’s payment had been.

 

“Remind me never to go back there.”  Harry shook his head.  “Are you all right?”

 

She sighed.  “Honestly?  No, I’m not.  But I will be.  Now tell me what you’ve found out.”

 

Harry spread all his information on the table and then looked over to Ron, who wordlessly joined them.  After everyone was ready he began.  “Ok, my sources say that Popov is coming over to Wales to talk to Malfoy, probably for enough Galleons to buy that book.  I sent an owl to Robards and he agreed with me, so we’ve got Aurors in waiting all around that warehouse that Malfoy’s holed up in.  No idea what we’ll find in there, it’s warded bloody well, so we’ll have to deactivate some of those before we do the runes.”

 

“You mean before I do the runes.”  Hermione stared at him.  “You’re rubbish at runes, Harry.”  She caught herself and sank back into her chair.  “I…I mean you always were at Hogwarts.  Maybe you’re better now, Auror Corps training.  Sorry.”

 

“Nope, he’s useless at runes.”  Ron winked at Hermione and then looked to Harry.  “You know she’s right, mate.  You’re rubbish.”

 

“Fine.”  Harry adjusted his glasses.  “But you’re taking my invisibility cloak when you do the runes.  How long will those last?”

 

“From dusk to dawn.”  Hermione stifled a smile at Harry’s irritation.  “But we’ll only get one chance.  After I activate the runes you’ll have to do the anti-apparition spells, and then they’ll know something is wrong.  I have to use the entire potion on the runes…”

 

“Got it, right.”  Harry nodded.  “Guess we should be ready any time.  Let’s just hope our surveillance results hold up.  If Malfoy has a breakfast meeting with Popov we’re done for.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Radomir Popov arrived at the Welsh warehouse at approximately half ten the next night, his arrival conspicuous by his flapping red robes.  It was the signal that the Auror Corps had been waiting for, as the moment he entered the warehouse Auror robes began to materialize out of the inky black night and began dismantling the wards.  Harry listened when one of the junior Aurors told him that the wards were down and they were ready, and Harry nodded, taking off his glasses.

 

That was the sign that Hermione had been waiting for, as she sprinted as fast as possible under the invisibility cloak and stopped at the north corner of the warehouse and took out her wand.  Concentrating hard she drew the necessary rune and the whistled sharply.  A broom swept down out of the sky and landed next to her revealing Ron in an Auror robe with his cowl pulled up.  Once he felt her on the broom he shot out to the east corner, where she repeated the process.  After finishing the south and west corner runes she got back on the broom and they repeated their travels, but instead of drawing runes Hermione poured small amounts of the potion on the runes, causing them to glow.  Finally, after all the runes had been activated she tapped Ron on the shoulder.

 

Flying high above the trees they sped towards the top of the warehouse, the absolute center of the building.  Not wanting to take a chance Hermione took off Harry’s invisibility cloak, tied it around her waist and then took out the vial with the remaining potion.  As she poured the last drops of the potion onto the warehouse Hermione silently sent with it all of her anger, all of her hopelessness, all of her futility.  All of those days of wandering looking for a fix, the days when new depths of depravity opened up and seemed to swallow her whole, all those days of anguish, but most of all she sent that day in Australia.  That horrible day.  She sent that down into the roof as well, willing the potion to work, not noticing that a tiny, almost imperceptible amount of the potion seeped across her index finger.

 

Nothing happened.

 

She wasn’t sure exactly what _should_ happen, but the runes had lit up, showed obvious signs of magical activity, but pouring the potion on the roof did nothing.

 

“Did it work?”  Ron looked over his shoulder to her.  “What now?”

 

“I don’t know, Ron.  It didn’t say anything after this.”

 

“Just give it a moment, ‘Mione.  You’re good at these things; you know how this stuff works.”

 

Before she could say anything a brilliant blue light flared around the entirety of the warehouse, rippling from dark blue to a crescendo of white light.

 

“Bloody hell.”  Ron looked over to Hermione.

 

“Yeah.  Bloody hell.”  She smiled at him.  “Let’s go get that bastard.”

 

The change in the magical atmosphere was easily detected, light show notwithstanding.  The Aurors descended on the warehouse like a pack of wolves, determined to finally get their quarry.  A few spells could be seen flashing throughout the building from different floors as Hermione sat on the broom with Ron.  She knew that it was all he could do to not go in there, that he was holding back not only because he was a suspended Auror but that he was trying to protect her.  A small explosion rocked the third floor, causing shock waves in the air and forced Ron to hastily maneuver to keep the broom in the air.  In the midst of keeping the broom aloft Hermione began to slip.  Ron felt the weight on the broom shift and he instinctively reached out to grab her; his hand fastened on the first thing he could grasp, her wrist.

 

Not only had Ron kept Hermione from falling off by grabbing her wrist, he’d also closed his hand over her tattoo.  The two locked eyes for a moment as she righted herself on the broom.  Without thinking Hermione reached up, grabbed Ron’s face and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“You’re a good man, Ronald.”

 

Ron’s eyes said much to her but his voice was silent.  Finally, after another small explosion rocked the warehouse, Ron hurriedly landed the broom in an empty patch of grass.  “Thanks.”

 

The two of them stood there for a few moments and simply looked at each other, Ron with the broom in his hand.  Hermione reached up to wipe a tear from her eye and felt as if every molecule, ever atom, ever sub-atomic particle that she had ever read about over the summers with her parents in their old Muggle house in England, every infinitesimal object that made up the universe stood still.  Ron’s look of trying to fight back emotion was frozen on his face.  A part of the warehouse was stuck in mid-air.  Everything was frozen.

 

“Ron?  Oh no.  No, no, no, no, no…”  Hermione slumped to the ground.  It had all gone wrong.  She reached up to wipe away another tear and that’s when she saw it; a blue mark on her index finger, the same blue color as her tattoo.  Years later she would always wonder why she did what she did after that, but never came to a satisfactory answer.  She touched her index finger to her tattoo, and the resulting flash of light blinded her.

 

It was then that Kyria of Delphi’s voice echoed through her head.  “An unforeseen circumstance.  You of all mortals living know how precariously time is balanced.  This caesura will pass.  Take advantage of your time.  There is no price; you have paid enough.”

 

As soon as the Pythia’s voice ceased Hermione found herself on her hands and knees in the grass.  Everything was still, frozen, except her.  She pulled out her wand and ran into the warehouse, not knowing exactly what she had to do, but the overwhelming urge was there, she had to do _something_ , she had the ability to change something, it was her only chance.  As she ran through the warehouse she stepped over bodies on the floor, over spells unmoving in the air, past parts of walls in the process of bulging out and transforming into rubble.  As she moved through the rooms and hurtled down the stairs she knew what she was looking for; Harry.

 

She shouted his name as she scrambled lower, chiding herself almost immediately because time was unmoving; there was no way for Harry to hear her.  As she made her way further down she found the body of red-robed man or what used to be a man, as a severed head lay against the far wall.  All the horrible thoughts came quickly to her, that Harry, the one person who had always been there for her, the one who had gently pulled her back into reality, the one who had never given up on her, Harry could be just like that man in the red robes.  It was the thought that drove her on, frantic, until she rounded a corner and found them.  Harry and Draco Malfoy.

 

They had their wands pointed at each other but no spells hovered in the air.  A silver time-turner hung around Draco’s neck, its sway halted in mid-air.  A look of sheer hated was etched on Malfoy’s face, an expression that Hermione had seen before, years ago.  All the horrible things that had happened, all the anguish and fear and self-loathing over the years that she’d had to endure found expression as with a terrible scream she ran over to Malfoy, severed his wand with a cutting charm and ripped the time-turner off of his neck.  Without thinking she threw the time-turner on the ground and smashed it with the heel of her shoe.

 

It was at that precise moment that the world resumed.  History has determined, using the Malfoy precedent, that an attempt to cast the killing curse with a broken or severed wand results in two actions.  The first action is that the curse does not reach the intended target.  The second action, confirmed by learned wizards and wandmakers alike, is that the caster of said killing curse receives the full force of the spell.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Hermione sat in the Head Aurors’ office with a warmth enchanted blanket around her shoulders as Harry gave his report.  Ron stood in the corner of the room, his unease at being in Robards’ office whilst still under suspension obvious from his inability to remain still.  He tapped his foot, he shifted his weight from side to side and it was finally the accidental removal of a book from the top of a bookcase that ceased his fidgeting.

 

Robards looked over to Ron with irritation.  “Weasley!  Sit down by Potter before I bodybind you.”

 

Hermione watched him tentatively step forward and hurriedly sit in the chair.  Harry continued on with his report, stating that they’d not only caught Malfoy red-handed with an entire warehouse full of dark objects but that they’d confiscated the entire stock of his time-turner, including the manufacturing equipment.  With clinical precision Harry detailed their course of attack, the use of approved tactics and the minimal injuries inflicted to the Aurors on the scene.

Instead of listening closely Hermione seemed to tune him out, as she was focused on what had happened to her personally.  It was almost too much, everything that had happened.  Draco Malfoy’s face swam into her memory as she saw the instant that time once again began flowing, and the green flash of light as his killing curse struck him directly in the chest.

 

It was a tap on her arm from Ron that brought her out of her reverie.  “Yes?”

 

Ron pointed to Robards.  “He asked you how you did the spell.”

 

A part of Hermione’s brain that had lain dormant for years suddenly re-engaged, and it was as if she was back at Hogwarts in front of Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration class.  Over the course of the next hour she explained all their preparations, all the tasks involved, and the price that Kyria of Delphi had extracted for assistance.  Robards made her show him the runes, and as she took the quill and dipped it in the inkpot she hesitated; her tattoo was fading.  Instead of the brilliant blue embedded in her skin it looked as though someone had blotted the paper, the lines were fuzzy and the colors muted.  Recovering from the slight shock she continued on, illustrating the runes, explaining how Ron had flown her to the spots since the warehouse was too large for her to walk or run to the needed spots in the time allotted.

 

After everything had been illuminated for the Head Auror the room grew silent.  Robards pursed his lips and clasped his hands together, touching his lips with his index fingers.  After several moments of deliberation he sighed.

 

“Potter.  You followed the book but you didn’t give me the whole story.  Think about that next week, I don’t want to see you in here until then.  Weasley!”

 

Ron started in his chair.

 

“You acted against my orders to not be involved with any Auror cases.  That said, you’ve got a history here, can’t ignore that.  Come see me in two weeks.  Miss Granger.”

 

Hermione looked up at him in surprise.  “Yes?”

 

Robards pointed a finger at her.  “You’re not an Auror, but we couldn’t have done it without you help.  Now, I know you’ve had a bloody awful time of it since you’ve been back, but…”  He waved his hand in the air dismissively.  “Civilians.  You lot are more trouble than you’re worth.  Go home, get some sleep.  You’ve earned it.”  As the three visitors to his office began to leave Robards stopped them.  “Hold on a mo.  There was a reward for Malfoy and his time-turners.  An information reward.  Potter, Weasley, you’re Aurors so you’re right out.  Miss Granger, see my assistant tomorrow.  Don’t speak to the press.  Dismissed.”

 

As they walked out of Robards’ office Harry looked over to his two friends.  “Normally I say I’m glad the case is done, but it isn’t.  We found a ledger, one that implicates Lucius Malfoy.  Once he hears about Draco’s death he’ll be out for blood.”  He looked to Hermione.  “Sorry, but you’re going to need protection.”

 

“Me?”  Hermione looked to Harry, confused.  “Why me?”

 

“You brought out the story about the time-turners and Draco, that’s why.”  Ron sighed.  “Lucius was in Slytherin.  He can connect the dots.”

 

“Oh.”  Hermione’s voice was very quiet.

 

“You can stay at Grimmauld.  Ginny won’t mind.”  Harry put his arm around her shoulder.  “Just until we can get it all sorted.”

 

As they walked down the hallway to the Floo fireplaces a woman in a dark robe with the cowl over her face stepped out of the last fireplace.  She did not give any outward appearance that she had seen them, but even if she had they were too engrossed in their conversation to notice.  Narcissa Malfoy did notice, though; she noticed the look of fear on Hermione Granger’s face.  Continuing on through the hallways to the Auror Corps offices Narcissa made a decision.  After all that time away, she did not discount that Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of her age.  If anyone could unravel Lucius’ ledgers, it was her.  As she continued on through the hallways her hands clenched and unclenched in rage and she ignored the tears upon her face.  It was with a very calm demeanor, almost as if she was buying something at a shop that she stopped in front of the reception desk and lowered her cowl.

 

“Narcissa Malfoy.  I was contacted to identify my son’s body.”


	5. Clean

**Chapter 5: Clean**

 

The death of Draco Malfoy was a sensation for the press.  They sold out of their early editions and rushed afternoon editions with expanded coverage out to the public as soon as they could.  Adding to the hysteria that Draco Malfoy was dead, the most infamous person on the Auror Corps’ most wanted list, was the involvement of the Young Lions of the Auror Corps and the notorious Hermione Granger.  _The Daily Prophet_ ran a special series on the matter, the headline screaming DRACO MALFOY SLAIN IN WELSH RAID BY YOUNG LIONS AND GRANGER.  All the previous articles about Hermione’s absence over those missing eight years were republished, along with the testimony that the Wizangamot deemed acceptable for public consumption.

 

The effect of the news was dramatic for everyone, most notably those directly involved.  Head Auror Robards installed Harry and Ron, once they were both off of their probation, into positions where they dealt with paperwork and never the public.  Robards told the two it was only temporary and would cease when the press died down, but after a week there did not seem to be any sign of abatement.  Hermione Granger became a recluse, dropping out of sight completely.  All attempts by reporters to locate her for a story, even a single quote, had gone unfulfilled.  Eventually the press editors gave up on her and focused upon the one person whose story they were all clamoring to get, the one person who was usually so forthright and willing to talk to any reporter; Lucius Malfoy.  After the death of his son Lucius Malfoy seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth.  All attempts to contact him, whether by owl post or any other means, turned up empty.

 

The inability to get a quote from the reformed Death Eater Lucius Malfoy left one person to be the sole representative of the Malfoy family; Narcissa.  Without any hint of emotion she addressed all requests with a simple ‘no comment’ or returned all post with the response ‘At this time of mourning I have no comment.’  It was what Harry had told her to say to all inquiries.  Once again a connection existed between Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy, then as now forged by her son Draco.  Where initially it had been the deepest fear of a mother, concern for her son’s life, presently it was with sadness and resignation regarding her son’s death.  Not long after identifying Draco’s body for the authorities Narcissa had requested a meeting with the Head Auror.  She told Robards that in her possession was evidence to prove that while Lucius may have not been the one to strike the fatal blow, he was the one that had caused her son’s death.  A request was made, though; Narcissa would only give the evidence to one person, Harry Potter.

 

Harry had met her secretly before Draco’s burial, on a high hill above a lake, but Narcissa did not bring Lucius’ ledger.  She had, against her better judgment, read all of the papers regarding her son’s death.  It was then that she truly learned of the horrors and degradation that Hermione Granger had suffered at the hands of her family, all the things she had done, all of the things she had endured, and Narcissa flashed back to many years before that in Malfoy Manor, the torture the girl had received at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.  While standing with Potter on that hill she made a decision; the only person she would give the ledger to was Hermione Granger.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

At first Hermione had felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief when she had returned from Wales.  It was almost done.  They had rounded up the silver time-turners, Draco Malfoy was dead, Ron would be off probation soon, but most importantly, more than anything, she hadn’t changed things for the worse.  Unfortunately for Hermione they didn’t stay long at the cottage, just long enough for her to gather her meager belongings.

 

Things were still in flux, though, as she existed in some sort of limbo; she didn’t have anything like her former profession to keep her busy, the little house wasn’t really hers, and most of all she was staying with the Potters at Grimmauld Place.  Even though the weather was mild she pulled down one of her sleeves; every morning she was reminded of her past by the multitude of little scars on her arms, not to mention the tattoo.  The first morning she had breakfast with all of the Potters seven year-old James had asked her why she had all those little marks on her arm; she’d forgotten after all the time with Harry and Ron that she needed to hide her scars.  Thankfully Ginny had covered for her, telling James that she’d fallen in a cursed sticker bush.  It was truer than she liked to admit.  Worst of all, though, was the fact that she was in protective custody, so to speak.  The wards at Grimmauld Place were some of, if not the strongest wards in all of Britain.  Until Lucius Malfoy could be found Grimmauld Place was to be her sanctuary, her temporary home and above all her comfortable prison.  It was a rather comfortable prison, though, she had to admit.  She was eating better than when they had been hunting for Draco Malfoy, amongst other things, and it was obvious to everyone, including herself, that she was beginning to be more like ‘the old Hermione’ as Ginny said.

 

Visitors were more frequent, at least those that had been approved by Harry, and she’d smiled when Neville Longbottom showed up one morning with a rather undersized green thing in a pot tucked under his arm.  Initially the conversation with Neville had been one of the more comforting visits.  When she referenced something that had happened in her eight year absence, and waited for that pained look that almost everyone she’d talked to invariably pulled, it was nowhere in sight.  Neville continued to be, for Hermione, a friend who was simply there for her.  He was more than happy to show her the pictures of his and Hannah’s children.  The eldest was a boy named Ambrose Franklin after Hannah’s grandfather and his father.  Apparently Neville’s Gran had wanted him to name the boy Harfang after a Longbottom relative but Hannah had quickly put that to rest.  They’d appeased her by naming their daughter Augusta Alice after his Gran and his mum.

 

Looking at the happy faces of the children Hermione felt something twinge inside her; her parents would never have the joy of having a grandchild named after them, if and when she ever thought about having a child.  It was a sudden realization that even though Hannah and Neville had named their children after his parents, they would never know, either.  She looked over at Neville and he simply took her hand.

 

“Hermione, if anyone knows why you used the time-turner, it’s me.  I thought about it.  I really did.  I even said something to Hannah one night after a few too many firewhiskeys on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.  I expected her to light in to me, to tell me I’m daft and all that but she didn’t.  She understood, just like I understand.”

 

Hermione simply nodded.  “Thank you, Neville.”

 

He nodded quickly.  “Yes, well, enough of that.  There are some instructions that go along with the flower.  It’s a Memory Mignonette.  The non-magical ones are much bigger, but this one should be happy in this pot for years.  I believe this one should be white, but you never can tell.”

 

“A Memory Mignonette?”  Hermione looked at the pot in front of her at the little table.  “And don’t you know if it will be white?”

 

“Sometimes magical flowers have a mind of their own.”  Neville chuckled.  “These especially.  They’re said to be empathic, that they feel the emotions of their owners.  There are several examples in the portraits at Hogwarts, even a few in some of the older Headmasters’ portraits.  The more you talk to them they better they grow.  One old reference book calls them the confession flowers, as people tended to confide things in them that they didn’t want to tell anyone else.  The more memories you give them, the better they grow.”

 

“Oh.  I see.”  She felt the closeness of their conversation begin to ebb away.

 

“Oh no, it’s not like that Hermione.”  Neville shook his head.  “You know that flowers have meanings, symbolic meanings.  That’s why I picked this one out for you.”

 

She waited and tapped her fingers on the table.  “Ok, Neville, what’s this one supposed to symbolize?”

 

“Worth.”  He looked her directly in the eyes.  “Worth.  Don’t ever let yourself think you’re not worth...ah, you know what I mean.  Just remember that no matter what people say or what the bloody papers print that you are worth something.”

 

“Thank you, Neville.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

A week after Neville’s visit Hermione was reading Lily a story as Ginny was disciplining the boys for fighting, a very common occurrence based on Hermione’s time with them, when Harry stepped out of the Floo in his Auror robes.

 

“Hermione, sorry to spring this on you with such short notice, but I need you to come with me for a bit.”

 

“Harry?  Is anything wrong?”

 

“No, it’s just…Lily will you go upstairs and find Mummy?”

 

Lily tried to pout and give her father her best ‘but I’m a good girl’ face, but it didn’t work.  With a sad face she slid off of the sofa and slowly made her way upstairs.  The absence of his daughter made Harry relax, but only slightly.

 

“You’ll need a traveling robe, one with a cowl.  Don’t worry, it’s not far and you’ll be back here within the hour.  Well, two, tops.”

 

She stood up and went to him, worry flooding her mind.  “You said this is the safest place in Britain.”

 

“It is, that’s not it.”  He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair.  “Hermione, Narcissa Malfoy is turning in evidence in preparation to testify against Lucius.  One stipulation, though; she’ll only hand over the evidence to you.”

 

“Me?”  Hermione’s eyes went wide.  Why would Narcissa Malfoy choose her?  She instantly flashed back to that horrible time at Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s cold eyes flashed in her memory.  Unconsciously she began to shiver.

 

Harry went to her and put his hands on her shoulders.  “They had to sell that place, and even if she still did live there I’d never make you go back there, not for all the Galleons in Gringotts.”  He looked at his watch.  “Come on, won’t take long.  Be back here before you know it, back to the happy sounds of one of my sons wailing and the other one protesting that he doesn’t deserve that much time on the naughty stool.”

 

She couldn’t help it, she laughed.  The humor died quickly, though, as she watched him leave to fetch a robe.

 

When they arrived on the hill the wind began to whip her hair about, causing Hermione to pull it back roughly and pull up her cowl.  The Apparition hadn’t been bad, not like some of the stomach-churning trips she’d had, but there was no denying the tumult that raged within her.  As she walked up the hill with Harry a lone figure stood at the top of the hill, looking at something, and as they came closer the outline of a lake could be seen far below in the distance.  When they reached the solitary figure Harry stepped forward.

 

“Mrs. Malfoy, I’ve done as you requested.”

 

Narcissa Malfoy turned, put down the cowl of her robe and Hermione had to put her hand to her mouth to stop the gasp that demanded release; Narcissa Malfoy’s hair was completely white.

 

“Thank you, Auror Potter.  If you don’t mind I’d like to complete this in a private manner.”

 

Harry winced.  “That wasn’t part of the arrangement.  With everything that’s gone on…”

 

For some reason, perhaps it was the look in Narcissa’s eyes, the look of someone who has had their worst fears realized, a look that revealed a complete lack of hope, a lack of future, Hermione knew.  “It’s ok, Harry.”

 

“No.”  He shook his head.  “Straight from Robards.  Can’t leave you alone.”

 

“Harry…”  Hermione looked up to him.  “Please.”

 

Realizing he was not going to win in the matter grunted.  “Fine.  I’ll stand over there by the tree.  But I have to take precautions.  Mrs. Malfoy, your wand, please.”

 

Without saying a word Narcissa reached into her robe and handed Harry her wand.  That settled he walked off a few paces and stood next to the closest tree, his wand displayed openly.

 

Narcissa looked over to Hermione.  “I do not blame you for my son’s death.  I blame only my son and his father.  Know that before anything else.”

 

“Mrs. Malfoy…”

 

“No.  Please.  I need to say a few things.”  Narcissa reached down and picked up a very heavy, leather-bound ledger from the grass.  “I thought I knew the depths that my husband could sink; I believed that I knew the very worst of him.  I accepted that.  I held out hope for Dra…for my son.  I held that hope close for many years.  Those illusions began to fall away when my son turned away from the chance that he was given.  Then my husband shattered any hope I had for him, not only for his future but…”  She turned from Hermione and looked out to the water, watching the wind form tiny little crests of white.  “You were caught in all their plans, their wheels within wheels, though I do not believe it was by design.  Your return forced them to…”  Once again she stopped, but this time she looked directly into Hermione’s eyes.  “There are many forms of torture, Miss Granger.  I thought I knew of them, but when I learned the details of your experiences and the part my husband and my son played in those horrible things I am afraid I turned a blind eye.  I did not want to believe, even though I knew it to be true.  And when my husband came back from a business trip, that was what he called it, I found his real reason for leaving.  Prophecy.”  She saw the light of recognition go on in Hermione’s eyes.  “Yes, Delphi.  You above all people should know that there is always a price.”

 

“Yes.”  Hermione nodded slowly.  “There is.”

 

“One year.  That is what the Oracle demanded, one year.  My husband had to choose whether to shorten his life or our son’s by one year.”  The muscles in Narcissa’s jaw moved almost involuntarily and she had to swallow several times before speaking.  “He chose Draco’s.”

 

Hermione tried to say something but no words would come.  Instead she almost had to force herself to breathe as birds began to gather and fly around them, darting about, singing their songs.  She could not listen to their songs, as the only thing she could do was see the pain in Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes.

 

“That was when I decided to steal my husband’s ledger and leave a copy in its place.  My hope was that if I revealed all to the Aurors that they would focus on my husband, not my son.  I never had that chance.”  She reached over and took Hermione’s hand.  “He will never cease in his goal, Miss Granger.  You know what I speak of.  With the ledger you and the Aurors can end it, once and for all.”

 

As Narcissa let go of Hermione’s hand she took the ledger and without another word handed it over.  Hermione pushed back her cowl with her free hand and then, two hands steadily on the book, looked at Narcissa.  “Thank you.”

 

“I have marked a passage that I believe you will find most illuminating.  Please forgive me.”  Narcissa turned, walked over to Harry, retrieved her wand and then Apparated away.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The trial by press of Lucius Malfoy was over almost before it started; after the revelations made in not only _The Daily Prophet_ but every other publication available to wizarding Britain, all of his efforts to return the name Malfoy to respectability were dashed.  The Auror Corps and the Ministry allowed one piece of information to be used almost verbatim, the piece that Narcissa Malfoy had marked for Hermione Granger, the section of the ledger where Draco Malfoy had noted that the silver time-turners were known to be flawed, potentially fatal to their users, but as long as they made a profit of above ten Galleons, the loss of repeat customers would be compensated by the profit margin.  Other unsavory involvements were hinted upon, never directly stated, but the small reserve of goodwill that Lucius had generated vanished.  That, perhaps, may not be completely true, as the workmen who were hired to magically remove all Malfoy names from his charity buildings did a rather brisk trade.

 

Greed does many things to a man, it makes him take chances, ignore his conscious, even kill.  Greed did one thing for Lucius Malfoy that made the Auror Corps very happy; greed made Lucius Malfoy a meticulous accountant of his ill-gotten gains.  It had also made him overconfident, as the locking spell on his ledger was restricted to those in the Malfoy family.  Apparently he had so dismissed Narcissa from his thoughts to believe that she would never betray him.  In that, as in many things, he was wrong.  After her initial perusal of the ledger Narcissa thought only of revealing all of his vile deeds to the world, and that was sufficient intent to break the curses intended for any unfortunate soul who dared to read the complete details of his criminal empire.

 

Lucius’ meticulous records also revealed something critical to not only the Auror Corps but to Hermione Granger; there was only one silver time-turner that had not been located, confiscated or destroyed.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Ron Weasley sat in his little office on the floor that housed the Auror Corps and read the report for the third time.  On his second pass through the missive he realized that he needed to do the task, he needed to tell her.  After all that she’d been through, after all that they’d been through, it had to be him.  He sat back in his chair and looked out the window, watched the rain hammer the glass and gathered his things before heading over to collect Harry.

 

Harry was working on case notes regarding a particularly nasty petty criminal who liked to prey on gullible squibs.  They’d caught him easily enough, as the man wasn’t very smart, but the amount of paperwork required to finish his portion of the documentation required by the DMLE was staggering.  He heard someone come over to his desk, but instead of registering that the person was there he continued to write.  Finally, after a few minutes and the realization that the person wasn’t going to go away he looked up to see a rather shaken Ron at his desk.

 

“Ron?  What’s the problem?”

 

Ron handed him the letter.  “This came in.”

 

Harry took the letter but didn’t read it; he continued to look at Ron.  “Do I want to read this?”

 

Ron took a deep breath.  “They found them.  Her parents.”

 

After Harry sat the quill down he took the letter in both hands and read quickly.  A Muggle archeological group had been searching through a remote part of the Outback when they stumbled upon the decomposed remains of two bodies.  The irony of one detail was not lost on Harry; Mr. and Mrs. Granger were identified by their dental records.

 

“She has to go retrieve their remains for a burial.”  Ron sat down on the corner of Harry’s desk.  “It’s only right.”

 

Harry stood up and handed Ron the letter.  “Let me go tell Robards and we’ll let her know.”  His face was etched with worry as he looked at his best friend.  He knew what happened the last time he and Ron were in Australia, knew that it was only his status as the Boy Who Lived and Vanquisher of Voldemort that kept Ron from the Australian Wizarding Court.  “We’ll have to notify the Australian Ministry that you’re going, you know.”

 

“Yeah.”  Ron nodded solemnly.  “Yeah.”

 

About an hour later the two Aurors arrived at Grimmauld Place.  The usual tumult and noise was conspicuously absent, which caused Ron to look at Harry questioningly.

 

“They’re at the Burrow.  I owled Ginny and told her it would be best if the kids weren’t here when we told her.”

 

“Told me what?”  Hermione stood in the doorway, a book under her arm and a cup of tea in her hand.  “Harry?”

 

Ron took the lead, stepping forward.  “Hermione, we got a letter.”  He paused, trying to find the words, but eventually it just came out.  “From Australia.  They found them.”

 

Hermione felt the blood seemingly drain from her body, as if all the fluid simply ran out in a stream through her toes, seeped out of her shoes and pooled on the hardwood floor of the kitchen.  Her parents…she’d thought of them often once she’d regained her mind, but after that she’d shut them away in a compartment and intentionally had avoided all reminders.  That wasn’t possible anymore, not with Ron and Harry in front of her, Harry with a letter in his hand.  She knew she would need to look at it, knew all the things that the simple piece of parchment would do to the tenuous progress she’d made, knew that she would once more have to face all of the horrible things she’d done.  The most horrible thing, the thing that visited her in her dreams.

 

Ron stepped forward and put his hand on her arm.  “Listen, ‘Mione, we don’t have to go right now, take your time, when you’re ready…”

 

“I’ll never be ready.”  She closed her eyes and felt her chest heaving, great gasps of air coursing through her lungs.  “I’ll never be, but I have to do this.  I can’t leave them there.”

 

Harry sat the letter on the table.  “That’s what I told Robards, and he’s agreed that we can go with you.  Just let us know and I’ll owl the Australian Ministry…”

 

“In the morning.”  She felt her teacup tremble slightly in her hand, and that was the moment she realized she was shaking.  As she sat the teacup on the kitchen table the tattoo once again seared with a cold flash through her skin.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The Australian Ministry was, by all outward appearances, deferential to the arrival of the British Ministry delegation to return the remains of Mr. and Mrs. Granger to the United Kingdom.  The official that met with the Aurors and Hermione was tactful but wary of the delegation; the story of Hermione had been disseminated worldwide, causing scandal regarding how one of the most famous witches in the world had not only meddled with time to the extent that her own parents had died, but also reflected badly on the Australian Aurors.  Two Muggles, the parents of a witch, had met their untimely end on their soil, under their jurisdiction, and it had gone unnoticed and unpunished for almost a decade.

 

After Hermione’s story had been made public there was a meeting of the Australian Wizangamot, and the debate on whether to charge Ms. Granger had raged for several days.  Ultimately it was the revelations regarding the Malfoys that swayed the dissenters; they had initially pushed for her to serve time in their version of Azkaban, but had relented to the combined pressures of impending worldwide denunciation.  Tourism, both in the Muggle and Magical worlds, brings in large quantities of funds for Australia, and the idea that their criminal justice system would be so harsh as to punish a person who had suffered so much was too much to bear.  The testimony of a wizard who had fled to their shores during Voldemort’s reign of terror was the deciding factor, as he detailed all the hardships and sacrifices that she had made.  The British Wizarding ambassador had also let it be known that if the Australian authorities imprisoned an Order of Merlin, First Class recipient that political repercussions would be swift, not only in regards to international law but in the court of public opinion.

 

In the end the reclamation of the remains of the Grangers was almost mundane, clinical in execution.  The parties met at a mortuary facility on the outskirts of Melbourne, signed paperwork, and finalized the portkey arrangements.  It was as Hermione signed her name on the last document that she felt her wrist tingle, and looking down it was obvious that the tattoo had faded, almost into nothing.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The funeral of Gerald and Winifred Granger was held on a damp, overcast day a week after their bodies returned to their native soil.  At first Hermione had wanted to bury them in the family cemetery, as her family had done for generations, but their plots had been sold.  One of the side-effects of Hermione’s relocation of her parents to Australia during that horrible year of the Horcruxes had been the complete breakdown of all the usual financial affairs of the Grangers; if one was to look at the details all financial aspects were in complete disarray.  The family home, the very home where she was raised, was foreclosed upon and sold by the bank.  Cars repossessed.  The family bank account was liquidated to defray all costs, their dental practice was sold, leaving Hermione with no inheritance, no family mementos, nothing to remember them by but the last horrible image of their bodies in the hot Australian sun.  The dissolution of their financial affairs also meant the small amount paid monthly to the cemetery was not maintained, and after the requisite amount of time had passed the company was well within their rights to resell the plots.

 

Eventually, though, Harry prevailed upon Hermione to bury them in a small wizarding cemetery not too far from Godric’s Hollow on that miserable day.  As Hermione stood there in a dress robe, newly purchased by Luna for the occasion, she felt hollow.  She knew there should have been many more people at her parents’ funeral; dental colleagues, friends, distant family that she’d barely met and hardly knew.  Many more people than the Potters, the Ron Weasleys, the Arthur Weasleys, and surprisingly Mr. and Mrs. Viktor Krum.  Together they stood and looked down as the caskets were magically levitated into the ground.

 

Hermione stood stock still, eyes fixated on the dirt that crumbled on the tops of the caskets, and she didn’t know why but she took out her wand and cleared the tops, leaving them as smooth and shiny as they were before they began their descent.  It made no sense, as soon the earth would swallow them up, hold them forever, but she couldn’t bear to see the imperfection.  She stayed that way for some time as a Ministry officiant began speaking, words of what had to be the traditional sayings, but she could only hear murmuring as if someone was speaking from another room.  Eventually, though, Luna came up to her and gently took her hand.

 

“It’s time.”

 

Her reverie broken, Hermione looked at Luna and realized that silent tears were streaming down her face.  “Sorry, what?”

 

“The first handful of dirt.”

 

Hermione’s mind raced, it was wrong.  It didn’t feel right to put dirt on the gleaming caskets, but mechanically she reached down, took a handful of dirt and threw it on one of the coffins, repeating the process almost immediately.  Ron walked forward and did the same, and Hermione grew angry, wondering what right Ron had to do that, but almost right after that thought she realized that he knew what her parents meant to her.  Harry and everyone else followed suit, and after the process was complete they began a slow walk back into the little village.

 

They had left the cemetery and had turned on to the path when Hermione looked over to Ginny.  “Where are we going?”

 

Ginny gave her a sad smile.  “To the portkey.  We’re all heading back to Grimmauld.  Mum’s got food, and those who couldn’t make the service will be over to pay their respects.”

 

Hermione stopped walking immediately.  “No…nobody told me, I can’t do that.  I can’t go back there, not with everybody…”

 

All of the mourners surrounded Hermione, all with the best of intentions, but their pleas fell on deaf ears.  She wouldn’t go back to Grimmauld, even though it had been her sanctuary, her safe haven from the outside world and the ill intent of Lucius Malfoy; she just couldn’t do it.

 

“Hermione, you come with us.  Go back to our place.”  Penka Krum stood in front of her.  “Is far away from everybody.”

 

Viktor came over and stood next to his wife.  “You always have place to stay with us.  As long as you need.”

 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, we’d have to run it past Robards…”  Harry shook his head.  “Grimmauld has the best wards…”

 

Hermione rounded on him, angry.  “Yes, Harry, I know.  You keep telling me that as if I didn’t realize that you, of all people, would have decent wards.  It’s logical, but I just can’t do it.  Please.”

 

Molly Weasley broke through the crowd surrounding Hermione and put an arm around her.  “Ron, you and Harry go have a talk with Robards.  We’ll take her back to the Burrow now.”  She looked to Hermione.  “It’s all right, dear, it’s all right.  Don’t worry about it, not today.  We can talk about everything else later.”

 

As Molly brooked no arguments it was settled.  With a small pop of side-along Apparition Molly took Hermione to the Burrow, and as soon as they arrived Hermione felt yet another pang of guilt and emotion wash over her, as it was the first time since she had returned to the wizarding world that she had come back to her former summer solace.  She entered the quiet house with Molly’s arm around her, and as soon as she stepped over the threshold something inside her finally, finally snapped into place, the immense feelings of loss, sorrow and guilt.  Her legs trembled as Molly guided her towards a chair.

 

“I’ll just fix you a cup of tea, dear.”  Molly quickly bustled into the kitchen, leaving Hermione without waiting for a response.

 

As she sat there in a robe that she didn’t purchase for attending her parents funeral in a cemetery that they’d never visited everything seemed to overwhelm her.  She leaned forward and put her head in her hands.  “I’m so sorry…Mum, Dad, I’m so sorry, for everything.  Please forgive me, I love you.  I promise I’ll make amends, somehow.”

 

As she cried the tea kettle began to whistle.  In her tears and grief she was oblivious to the last, final flash of cold of the tattoo as it evaporated from her skin, leaving no trace.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The end of Lucius Malfoy was, for the Wizarding world, highly anti-climactic.

 

With Lucius’ funds frozen at Gringotts, his ledgers decoded and all hidden storehouses of Galleons discovered and confiscated, the once proud wizard was reduced to living hand-to-mouth.  All of his efforts regarding public rehabilitation of the Malfoy name caused his face to be one of the most well-recognized amongst the magical public, which created an increasing series of difficulties for a man of his ego.  He drifted from place to place, struggled to find a place to sleep at night, and had been reduced to stealing food.  Eventually, though, the greed for his former life, the desire for luxuries such as a decent meal became too much and after a series of disguising spells he wandered into a disreputable wizarding restaurant for a reminder of what he used to have.  To the other patrons of the restaurant he looked the part of a well-heeled aristocratic wizard that belonged to one of the most ancient families, but his demeanor kept all visitors from his table.  Deciding to indulge he requested the most expensive bottle of wine to accompany the chef’s specialty.  Once that had been thoroughly enjoyed he took the bottle and sat by the fire, dismissing the couple at the table.

 

The couple complained to the owner of the restaurant, and when he came over to castigate his wealthy but ill-mannered guest he noticed something different; instead of the wealthy man who walked into his establishment a downtrodden, dirty man sat in front of the fire, drinking the last glass of wine from the bottle.  He accosted the man immediately, and the effects of the bottle of wine on Lucius became readily apparent.  His glamour charms were gone, from his appearance it was obvious that he would have no way to pay for his meal, and the wine had severely affected his judgment.  Lucius’ killing curse missed, but the act of standing suddenly after drinking so much wine impeded his balance and he fell towards the fireplace.  The Healer who surveyed the scene later for the Aurors indicated that he had died almost instantly, as even with magic there was no way to repair his heart.

 

Lucius Malfoy died by drunkenly falling chest-first onto the barbed, sharp end of the fireplace poker.  They found two Sickles in his pocket.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

“Herrmyownee?  Are you awake?”  Viktor Krum knocked on the door of the large upstairs bedroom in his pub.  “I have news.”

 

In her bed with a multitude of quits Hermione rolled over and rubbed her eyes, pushed her hair out of the way and propped her head up.  “A minute, please.”

 

“I go downstairs.  Will have coffee ready.”

 

She listened to hear Viktor’s steps fade on the staircase and then sat up.  As she stretched she couldn’t help but notice what marks remained on her arms, the little pinpricks that would never leave, but as she had every morning since her parents funeral she rubbed her fingers over the spot where her tattoo from Kyria of Delphi once lay embedded into her skin.  After she chose a sensible outfit for the weather Hermione made her bed, tightly tucking in the corners and fluffed the pillows.  It wasn’t much, her little room at Viktor and Penka’s pub, but it was clean.  Very, very clean.  The rough-hewn wooden beams in the ceiling were the same color as the hardwood which stretched the length of the room, and a small wardrobe sat adjacent to the far wall.  After moving the heavy drapes the bright, cold sun attempted to illuminate the room, but instead of waving her wand to bring the lamps up to normal brightness she relished the half-light.

 

“Good morning, Mignonette.”  She stroked the petals of the flower that sat in a small pot on top of the table next to the window.  “Viktor says he has news, and I’m almost afraid to ask what that is.  You remember what I told you was in Harry’s last letter, they hadn’t found him yet and I might be here forever until they do.  I don’t mind, though.  You like it here, don’t you?”

 

The flower made no response, as always, so Hermione stroked the petals again, causing the flower to seem to bask in her touch.

 

It wasn’t Viktor that met her when she arrived at the family kitchen, though, but Penka.  “Coffee ready soon, but you know Viktor.  Is probably strong enough to patch cauldrons.”

 

Hermione sat down at the table.  “He said he has news.”

 

Penka smiled, a smile that seemed to fill her up.  “Oh yes!  Good news.  Very good news.”

 

Viktor walked in, sat the carafe on the table, and then reached into his pocket and handed Hermione a letter.  “Ron sent by Auror owl, priority.  Sent one for me, too.  I let you read.”

 

At first it seemed like a cruel joke to Hermione.  A wizard such as Lucius Malfoy, dead from a drunken accident?  She looked up to Viktor.  “is this true, he’s…”

 

“Yes, is true.”  He nodded.  “Is all done now.  No more Aurors and wards for pub, maybe help business, but…eh, is business.  More important for you.  You can do what you want.”

 

As almost every emotion flooded her brain Hermione laughed, a laugh of joy.  “No more Malfoys!  They’re all gone.”

 

Penka shook her head.  “The mother still lives, no?”

 

Viktor rolled his eyes.  “Remember paper, Penka darling?  She took back Black name, no more Malfoy.”  He smiled at Hermione.  “You will go back England.  Will miss you.”

 

Hermione sat there and looked at the Krums.  Of all the people in the Wizarding world they offered her refuge, not only from the prying eyes of the press, from Lucius Malfoy, from all the bad memories and history, but also from her well-meaning friends who couldn’t look at her without sadness in their eyes.  It was then, looking down at the words ‘impaled upon fireplace poker’ that she felt free for the first time in years.  Free from her mistakes, even though they would never truly go away, but free from all the constant reminders.  Free.  No more scouring back alleys making distasteful arrangements for mind-numbing substances, no more scars on her arm, no more tattoo, no more visits to Delphi, no more fear that her parents’ bodies would lay open to the ravages of the Outback atmosphere, no more, no more, no more.  She was free to make her own decision, and at that moment she realized she had no Galleons, no permanent home, and in Merlin’s name no idea what she would do next.

 

One thing was clear, though; she was not going back to England.

 

“You must write.  Tell us what happening.”  Penka stirred her coffee.  “Will miss you much.  Do not want to say Goodbye, Hermione.”

 

Hermione sat the letter down on the table and straightened her back.  With a clear, steady eye she looked at her hosts.  “I’m not going back.  For visits, yes, but not permanently.”

 

Viktor smiled at Hermione, but his happiness faded just a tiny bit as he looked at his wife.  “Yes, Penka, you right.  You always right.”

 

Penka laughed and leaned towards Hermione.  “I told him you stay, but he not believe me.  Women know these things.  Your heart needs to grow in new place, make new memories.  Good memories.  I know of small house, not much, but good house.  Good for you.”

 

 

-ooo-

-ooo-

 

 

Hermione opened the window of her room to look out over the crystal clear lake and breathed in the crisp, clean air.  The sun would not shine brightly that day, but she did not care.  It was a much different environment than Hogwarts, but she felt as if it was the place where she could start anew, like Fawkes, Headmaster Dumbledore’s phoenix, who rose from the ashes.  Even though the temperature in the room began to drop with the open window she left it as it was; nothing could take away from the day she was about to begin.

 

The acquisition of her little house was facilitated by Penka, and she had grown to love it in all of its rustic splendor.  Every surface gleamed in cleanliness, every item of her growing possessions was in the proper place and most of all her library was growing.  It was with pride that she glanced at the legal books in their place of prominence on the middle shelf, as with their contents and Viktor’s assistance everything had become possible.

 

As she began her morning preparations she remembered the meeting with the Durmstrang Institute’s Headmaster.  Bjorn Gjertsen was a formidable man, and his reluctance to listen to Viktor’s petition was palpable at the meeting.  It had only been through Viktor’s fame and influence that the headmaster had even agreed to the meeting, and from the beginning Hermione knew that the man’s mind was set before the evidence was relayed.  Durmstrang had never admitted Muggleborn students, had never hired a female instructor, and Gjertsen believed in following centuries of tradition.  When it was Hermione’s turn she used the legal documents that governed Durmstrang, and there were absolutely no legal precedents, rulings or instructions that forbade Muggleborns or female instructors.  She simply took apart all of Gjertsen’s objections as if he had been one of the Wizangamot who insisted that house elves did not have any rights.  In the end Hermione’s evidence, persuasiveness and somewhat unfortunately her infamy that sealed it; she would begin the new term as the Magical Law instructor at Durmstrang.  Gjertsen felt as if he had won with the meager salary offering, but she didn’t care.

 

It was with the memory of that meeting, particularly the look on Gjertsen’s face when he realized that his arguments held no water, it was with that memory in her mind that Hermione walked over to her wardrobe and took out the dark red instructor’s robe.  It was as she felt the fabric, smooth in her hand, that another red robe swam in front of her eyes, the red robe of Kyria of Delphi.  All the horrible things that had flashed through her mind in that cave came quickly, but almost as quickly they were gone.  She knew she would never see the Pythia again, and somehow, some way she knew that Kyria would smile at her if she could see her now.

 

“She probably can.”  Hermione chuckled and stroked the blooms of her mignonette.  “I suppose I should go down now, almost time for my first class.  Wouldn’t do to be late, oh no.”  The plant vibrated slightly.  “Can’t give them a reason to sack me, have to prove that a Muggleborn witch can teach just as well as all those men.  Of course, this being Durmstrang, the only reason they have Magical Law is so the students will know how to get around the law.  Oh, listen to me, judgmental and I haven’t even said one word to any of my students.  An open mind, that’s what Viktor said.  Must remember that.”

 

With the red robes on and her hair pulled back Hermione walked down the hallway towards her classroom.  In front of her, several meters ahead, two boys walked slowly with their books.  She recognized one of them immediately; Nikola Krum.  She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the vast stone hallway echoed their words back to her as easily as if she was using one of George and Fred’s extendable ears.

 

“Can you believe it, Nikola?  A Muggleborn and a woman!  Father says she’ll be gone by Christmas.”

 

The dark headed son of Viktor and Penka shook his head.  “You are wrong, she’s strong, very strong.  Gjertsen will not know what hit him.”

 

“But she is, how do you say, loose woman?  Mother says she write Gjertsen and complain.”

 

“Pah!  You are stupid.  She go though many things, true, but nobody else could do that.  They all die.  She do eight years with time-turner.  Is record.  Besides, Yasha, you know History, know she help defeat Voldemort with Potter and Weasley.  Listen in class, might learn something.  Is smartest person I know.”

 

The boys turned down a corridor and left the hallway, and the echoes faded away as Hermione continued on to her classroom.  The school year was new, her teaching career was brand new, and she felt as if the chrysalis was dropping away, leaving her new, shining and full of possibilities.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Kyria of Delphi sat by the fire, studying the skeins of thread intently.  One by one they all became whole, their pieces wrapping around each other, tighter and tighter, becoming stronger.  As they faded away Kyria focused on the one thread that had affected her the most, the thread of Hermione Granger.  The last piece spiraled slowly, latched on to the main portion, and firmly cemented itself.

 

Whole.


	6. Intertwined: An Epilogue

**Intertwined: An Epilogue**

 

Kyria of Delphi sat in front of the fire, watching as two skeins of thread that had always been loosely interlaced slowly began to knit themselves together.  It was as she had foreseen; it was destined to be, but it had not been the right time.  Time…it had required time, and now the appointed hour was at hand.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

_22 December, 2021_

 

As the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾ Lily Potter knew exactly what would happen; even though her father had given specific instructions for her brothers to help with her trunk and other baggage they would skive off, Al with his friends and James with whatever girl he was dating at the time.  It was only Lily’s third year at Hogwarts but so far it had been a different girl that James dated each Christmas, and according to Al it had been that way ever since James had started Hogwarts six years ago.  As the steam began to clear Lily wiped the window pane next to her seat to slowly reveal the same smiling faces waiting for them as usual; her father, her Gran and Grandpa Weasley, not to mention all the other Weasley aunts and uncles. 

 

And, as always, standing next to her father was Hermione Granger.

 

“Come on, Lils, I want to introduce Sophie to Dad.”  James stood at the door of Lily’s compartment, holding hands with Sophie Clarke; the Ravenclaw girl seemed nice enough to Lily, which was why she couldn’t understand how she’d ended up with her brother.

 

“Go on, I’ll wait for Al.”  Lily waved them off, gathered her bag and said goodbye to her roommates.  Eventually Al arrived with his roommates and the Gryffindors exited the train en masse, all of them leaving Lily to her trunk.

 

As usual her father didn’t make a big display like some parents; he waited patiently with a smile on his face.  He also couldn’t hide the sadness behind the glasses. 

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The death of Ginny Potter was a shock to the wizarding world but it was as if the calendar stopped for the Potters and Weasleys.  The explanation was startling in how commonplace it was; Ginny was in Muggle London doing some Christmas shopping after attending a Quidditch match for _Quidditch Weekly_ when a drunken driver plowed through a pedestrian-only area.  The Healers confirmed to Harry that even if magical assistance had been available it would have been for nought; her neck was snapped upon impact.  Four other Muggles lost their lives that day, but the fact that Ginny Potter died made things incredibly hard for the Ministry.  It was the intervention of the Other Minister’s office that tied off the loose ends, made the BBC and the papers print corrections regarding the number of dead.

 

The news went out immediately through the Weasley family, as everyone came back instantly to the Burrow.  Molly was inconsolable; she had lost Fred to the war, that much she could comprehend, but losing Ginny to the randomness of the Muggle world?  As Harry watched her parents deal with the grief he knew that the hardest task, the hardest task of his life lay ahead, but he couldn’t do it by himself.  He knew that he would break down, and he had to be strong, stronger than ever before.  The fact that Lily, little Lily sobbed into Molly’s arms did not make the task easier.

 

Ron went with him to Hogwarts.  Headmistress McGonagall asked Neville to fetch the boys, as he was their Head of House, and as they waited for them to arrive Minerva McGonagall broke down for a few minutes, leaving Ron to comfort her; Harry was still numb, still in shock, still mad at the world.  After all he’d done for the wizarding world, after all he’d been through he only had seventeen years with her.  Seventeen…it should have been a lifetime!  As the boys walked into the room with Neville he looked at his sons, a first year and a second year, so much promise ahead of them…

 

The funeral was a state occasion.  Ambassadors from magical countries attended as well as heads of state.  Hermione Granger left Durmstrang immediately for an extended visit, to help in the time of need.  She later extended her trip to be a sabbatical.  She tendered her resignation midway through the summer.

 

 

-ooo

 

 

The first night back at Grimmauld Place on Christmas holiday kept to the usual routine; Ron, Luna and their kids would come over, Hermione and Luna would fix all the children’s favorite foods and they would listen intently to James’ excuses for whatever trouble he had caused during the first term.  Lily watched with interest this year as, surprisingly, her father let James invite Sophie over for dinner.  Ron and Oz, who was a year below Lily, were merciless in attempting to embarrass James to no avail.  Only her five year old cousin Selene, who apparently looked like Luna’s mum with her dark hair, kept her from relating that she’d found evidence that proved James and Sophie had been caught seventeen times in Gryffindor broom closets; Selene insisted that Lily show her all the Christmas decorations.

 

Eventually, though, the evening drew to a close and after everyone had said goodnight Grimmauld House became dark and quiet.  Lily, though, could not sleep.  Something was different, something was off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.  Once she’d identified the reason, though, she couldn’t move for a while, and sat staring at the picture of her mum on the dresser.  After pulling on her dressing gown and sliding into her fuzzy slippers she softly went down the hall, checked something, and then headed downstairs.

 

Everything was in its proper place.  The decorations were as they always were, the pictures were on the mantle, the ornaments were on the tree…nothing out of sorts.  Lily walked forward and took the picture from the center of the mantle and stared at her parents.  It was taken the year before her mum died, James’ first year at Hogwarts.  She traced her finger along her mother’s long, red hair.

 

“I’ve always like that picture.  I think it really captures her, don’t you?”  Hermione Granger stood on the step, a patchwork quilted robe fastened around the middle with a mismatched belt.  “Can’t sleep?”

 

Lily shook her head.  “No.”

 

“I understand.  How about a snack?  I happen to know where the Christmas biscuits are hidden.  You know if we didn’t hide them…”

 

“Al and Uncle Ron would eat all of them, just like two years ago.”  Lily smiled, but then cocked her head.  “Why are you still awake?”

 

“Bad dream.”  Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her wrist where a blue tattoo once sat.  “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”

 

Lily followed her into the kitchen and sat at the counter while Hermione took out her wand and waved it at the garbage bin, then watched as the bin turned into a box.  “Oh, they’d never figure that one out.  Clever.”

 

“Thank you.  The real bin is across the room.”  Hermione handed Lily the box and then retrieved milk and two glasses.  After pouring the milk she sat down across from Lily.  “It’s always hard this time of year, isn’t it?  It is for me, and for your father…”

 

“He tries to hide it but…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“He’s rubbish at it.  We all are.”

 

“She wouldn’t want it that way.  I know after…after I came back it was obvious she always did her best to make it wonderful for you kids.  I think she even surpassed your Gran, and that’s saying something.”  Hermione took a bite of biscuit.

 

Lily decided to plunge ahead, ask the question that had been nagging at her for a while.  “How long have you and Dad been together?”

 

Hermione half-choked on her biscuit.  “What?”

 

“You didn’t sleep in the guest room.  I put one of Uncle George’s Wailing Watchdogs on the door.  I tried to sleep, expecting to hear it go off, but when it didn’t…”

 

After a few moments of shock Hermione pushed back her graying hair from her face.  “How long have you suspected?”

 

“I’m not sure.  A while.”

 

“You should really have this conversation with your dad, Lily.”

 

“Yes, but I’m asking you.  I’m not mad.  To be honest I’m kind of happy.”  She paused.  “Does that make me a horrible daughter?  What would mum say?”

 

“I think your mum would want your father to be happy.  In fact, I know she did.  Wait here, there’s something I want you to read.  Harry wanted to save it for later, when you were older, but…I’ll be right back.”

 

As she ascended the stairs Hermione’s mind was racing a million miles a minute, faster that the swiftest broom.  As she entered the bedroom she saw Harry roll over, and when he found the bed empty he groggily sat up.

 

“Hermione?  What are you doing up?”

 

Biting her lip slightly Hermione went over and sat on the bed next to him.  “I’m looking for Ginny’s letter.  That letter, you know the one.  Lily’s downstairs and…and she’s figured it out.”

 

“Bloody hell.  Sorry.  Really?  How did this all come about?”

 

“I couldn’t sleep and when I went downstairs I saw her with the picture from the mantle.  Harry, she’s confused, but she’s not angry.  She just wants some answers.  I think you’d better join us.”

 

Harry rose, put on a t-shirt and went to the small box that sat on the wardrobe.  He reached inside and pulled out a faded letter.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Several weeks after Ginny’s funeral Alexander Crumpitt, the editor of Quidditch Weekly, paid a visit to Harry Potter.  He apologized profusely for the interruption but held a small box tightly in his arms and would not leave it unless he spoke to Harry personally.  Ron let him in with some reservations, owing to Harry’s fragile state of mind, but Harry seemed glad to see him.  Once Crumpitt and Harry were alone the editor explained the reason for his visit; every few years all employees were required to create Contingency Letters.  Even though there had been no attacks from rogue Death Eaters still about or those who aligned with Voldemort, the actions from the past war had left everyone shaken.  Ginny had been required to complete a Contingency Letter, which was enclosed in the box along with all of her personal effects.

 

Harry had thanked Crumpitt for his condolences and put the box away.

 

It was while cleaning out the attic, three years later, that Harry had stumbled upon the box.  It had been long enough that he’d quite forgotten what the box contained, so when he opened it up he wasn’t prepared for what lay inside.  There, on top, in Ginny’s handwriting, was the envelope.  Underneath it were the pictures that always sat on her desk, her reporter’s notebook, her quills, several dried up inkpots and a coffee mug that said ‘World’s Best Mum’ that James had insisted they buy her for her birthday when he was five.

 

All the reserve within Harry began to crumble as he opened the letter.  As he read the first few lines the tears began to fall.

 

_My Dearest Harry,_

_If you are reading this then the worst has come to pass.  If anyone deserves a happy ever after it is you, and if you are reading this then my part in your happily ever after has come to an end.  I know that you will continue to be the best father to our children, and you will put them first, but you have to remember to think about yourself on occasion.  I know all too well how you think of everyone else; put everyone else’s needs ahead of yours.  Don’t dwell on the sadness, as we all know how easily it is to fall into that habit of despair.  We have had truly horrific things happen to us in our lives, but we’ve come out the other end better for it._

_You have always been my love.  Even before I knew exactly what love was I think it was always you.  I know how much love means to you, more than anyone else.  I know how desperately you needed it when you were a child, and even though we’re grown and have children of our own we will never outgrow that.  If you’re reading this and I’m gone I want you to pay close attention to the next few things._

_Harry James Potter, you deserve love more than any person I have ever known.  You are truly a good person, in all aspects of the word.  You deserve to have love, even if I am gone.  Yes, I know for someone who has exhibited a very large jealous streak this seems at odds with the evidence, but it is true.  If I am gone before you I want you to find someone, someone to make you happy, someone that will love our children as much as I do, someone to take care of them when I can’t.  The children will need a mother, and you, my messy, can’t wake up on time, leaves his socks and underwear on the bathroom floor husband, you will need a wife.  More than that you will need a best friend, someone to listen to you, to understand how hard it is being The Boy Who Lived for almost all of the wizarding world, but more importantly someone who knows that at the end of the day you’re just Harry._

_I truly hope that the future finds us reading this letter after I’ve retired from Quidditch Weekly, lying on a beach somewhere while our grandchildren play in the sand.  If that isn’t the case, know that I will be there, watching our grandchildren play in the sand, watching you and wishing you nothing but love._

_Your Ginny_

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

Lily looked up from the letter to her father and Hermione, who sat closely together, his arm around her shoulders.  She wiped tears from her face with the back of her hand.  “Dad?”

 

“I know, Lils.  I know.”

 

Hermione reached out and took Lily’s hand.  “Lily…I could never replace your mum.  I’m not trying to.  Nobody could replace her.  She was my best friend before…before I left.  And after I came back it wasn’t easy at first.  It wasn’t easy at all.  But she…when she brought you and your brothers to visit, I…I don’t know what I would have done without her and your father and the Krums…”  She turned to Harry.  “Would you give us some time, please?”

 

Harry kissed Hermione on the cheek, walked over and hugged Lily tightly, and then left the kitchen.  Hermione sat there, unsure of what to do.  So many things spun through her head, images of Kyria of Delphi sprang unexpectedly to the forefront and one phrase in particular.  “We talked about it many times, what happened in Delphi.  You know the story, don’t you?”

 

Lily nodded hesitantly and looked down at the table.  “Yes.”

 

Hermione noted the softness of Lily’s voice.  “I am ashamed of some of the things I’ve done, and if I could take it all back I would, but I can’t.  We learn to go on, to live.  When we were in the cave I was shown many things.  Some of those things were true, some of them were false.  I couldn’t deal with the enormity of everything, and it was only after talking with Viktor much later that he mentioned something.  I didn’t hear it, I was…I was in no position to listen.  Viktor said that when your father talked to Kyria, the Oracle, she said that your father’s fate was intertwined with mine, as it has always been.  At first I thought that was just because of everything else…that we were friends at school, that we fought Voldemort, all of those things.  But Penka, Viktor’s wife, disagreed.  Penka…” 

 

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed.  “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve to have a friend like Penka.  It was a few years after I’d moved back to London.  I’d gone over to visit them and Penka asked me what I’d been doing.  I told her about how I’d opened my new law office, how I was working with the Ministry, but that wasn’t what she was asking.  She wanted to know what I did when I wasn’t working.  When I began to tell her that’s when I realized I spent all my time with your father and…he spent all his time not working with me.”

 

Lily nodded.  “That was after Dad quit the Aurors, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, it was right after he went into politics.  He hated it at first, but after I told him how much good he could do, how people would listen to him because of who he is…he obviously didn’t like that, but it’s the truth.  If he was going to be saddled with being known as The Boy Who Lived and Vanquisher of Voldemort, why not use it for good?”  Hermione sighed and pulled her hair away from her face.  “We were spending so much time together and…things just fell into place.  We didn’t mean it to happen, you have to know that.  Your mum was my best friend.  But someone just made a comment one day and…”

 

“Aunt Luna?”  Lily smiled.  “It was her, wasn’t it?”

 

Hermione seemed flustered.  “Yes, it was Luna.  We had gone over to eat with her and Ron, and your uncle made some dumb comment about how Harry always did things for me.  Luna told him that’s just what people in love do for each other.  Nobody said a word for quite a while.  Thankfully Oz was doing something horrible to Augustus with one of your Uncle George’s products so that broke the tension, but later that night your father and I had a very long talk.”

 

“And that’s when you realized, right?”  Lily gave her a small smile.  “Then why hide it?  Us?”

 

“Yes.  Your father was so worried about how you and your brothers would take it.  He didn’t want…we didn’t want you to think he was trying to replace your mum.  Nobody can replace Ginny.”

 

“You haven’t tried, Hermione…but remember, who was there when I got my period?  You were.  Who was there when Al broke his arm trying to fly a broom in the house?  You were.  Who’s picked me up from the Hogwarts Express every time with Dad?  You.  And who helped talk to me about Richard Spliptly?”

 

“Please tell me you’re not dating him again.”

 

“Oh no, that’s totally over.”  Lily’s smile faded.  “Hermione…you know what Dad was like after…after…after mum died.  He’s not like that anymore.  I don’t want Dad to be like that again.  You make him happy.”

 

Hermione pulled Lily into a hug.  “How did you get so smart?”

 

“I’m my mum’s daughter.”

 

As she batted back tears Hermione nodded.  “You definitely are.”

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The editor of The Daily Prophet could not believe his luck; he finally had a society piece with Harry Potter in it that was more than the usual politician grand opening of an orphanage!  He’d made the reporter verify everything with Potter’s office at the Wizangamot not once, not twice, but five times before going to press.  He’d cleared the story about the new international trade agreement with the American wizarding world from the front page and had moved it to page five, as he knew that everyone would want to know the details.

 

The morning edition sold out almost immediately, and the second printing sold out almost as quickly.  Harry Potter was not only getting married again, but to Hermione Granger!  A member of the Wizangamot, one of the most esteemed members of the Wizangamot, was marrying Granger, a witch whose sordid past had become one of the most repeated stories since Voldemort’s demise.  It was the story of the year. 

 

Press credentials for the upcoming Wizangamot session broke all records, and reporters crowded in the Ministry from all over the world.  Eventually the Aurors had to be called into restore order.  One reporter even tried to get an interview with Ron Weasley, wanting to know how it felt that his best friend was marrying his former fiancée.  Unfortunately for the reporter he ended up with a hastily created portkey back to Australia and an empty notebook.

 

 

-ooo-

 

 

The wedding itself was a very small, very quiet affair.  It took place in the country, overlooking a small lake, with only immediate family and close friends in attendance.  James and Albus stood with Harry in dress robes while Lily stood next to Hermione. 

 

Luna and Ron stood with their children, Ron watching his boys while Luna held their daughter.  As she shifted her daughter into a different arm Luna noticed a small, red bird land in a nearby tree and then hop from branch to branch until it was almost directly over Harry and Hermione.  After the vows were said, after plain gold bands were exchanged, after Harry and Hermione kissed the small bird began to sing. 

 

Far away, in a cave in the Greek hills, Kyria watched as the two strands of thread that had started weaving themselves together finished producing a strong, thick thread.  A thread that endure for a long, long time.

 


End file.
